Thief
by Aengeal Gladefire
Summary: He's a symbol of the righteous but in the eyes of some he's a villain. She's evil but in her heart of hearts she knows she's a good person. When they meet, who will see and know the truth? Rated M to be safe: Adult situations/language
1. The Broken Vow

The wind buffeted him where he stood among the bare, stunted trees, carrying with it the promise of a storm in the swirling snowflakes briefly obscuring his vision. Winterspring was not as harsh as the far regions of Northrend but it would do, he thought grimly as he set his cleaned sword back in its scabbard, especially now with night on the march. He packed the fresh hide on top of the others and then adjusted the covering over them before tossing the meat from his latest kill in the storage hole in the snow bank.

He had lost count of how many days he had tracked the bear, who was proving to be damned elusive. The hunt had gone on for longer than it should and now what little money he'd had was almost gone. It had been bad judgment on his part to agree to payment in full upon producing its head. He looked to the west where the setting sun glowered behind the mountains. There was time enough for one last tour of Ursius's known haunts he decided, and then he would have to withdraw to Everlook for the night.

He packed more snow over the meat, then reached for his spear and gave it a look over. Its broad head was made from white ravasaur claws and the short crosspiece of twice forged iron. A sharp tug confirmed both were firmly seated on the long, heavy shaft. A final check of the rest of his gear, then he hefted the spear and headed downwind from the cache. He had positioned it north of Everlook's flightpath, knowing the bear often prowled there looking for scraps the wind riders dropped. It was also on the way to the town's one entrance and if his hunt proved fruitless then he would just go in for the night. The hides and the meat, or at least most of them, would keep until morning.

With the last of the sun's light the snowfall grew thicker and he scrambled up the knee of a low rise for a better view. He saw something move through a vision blurring spate of snowflakes and he stopped to see what it was: bear, owlkin, yeti? The white on white form resolved into a four legged animal – a bear! Excitement coursed through him as he wondered if it was indeed his quarry. He climbed higher to get above the animal as it stopped to dig at something in the snow. He stood up and readied his spear but before he could attack, the bear looked up at him and charged, snow flying as it clawed its way up the slope.

Sylvie's tits, he silently cursed as the animal came closer, the damn thing was a monster! No other bear was that big; it had to be Ursius. He set the spear's butt against the ground, steeling himself for the rush of at least two thousand pounds of angry bear. At the last second he raised the weapon, its point aimed dead center at the animal's chest. The impact shattered the set point and he leaned on the spear's shaft as the force of the impact pushed him across the top of the rise. With a teeth jarring slam the butt of the spear caught again and he could have sworn the hardened shaft had bowed. The bear's roar was deafening, its snout inches from his face, but the crosspiece held it back. He turned away from the mouth full of sharp, white teeth.

There was another roar from behind him, a yeti by the sound of it, and he had bare moments to brace himself before it struck him on the back. Just his damn luck one of the large humanoid creatures had been close enough to have been drawn by the noise. Another blow landed, slewing him to one side, and he blessed the strength of his plate armor to absorb most of the damage. In front of him the bear strained against the spear again, determined to work its way up the shaft to reach him. The yeti hit him on the back of his helmet, making his ears ring, and he put out one arm to steady himself. The bear lunged again, catching his arm in its teeth and he roared in pain as its teeth punctured his gauntlet's plating.

He kicked the bear in the face and it released his arm to shake off the blow. His second kick hit it in the eye, stunning it just long enough for him to use the animal's dead weight to push the yeti back far enough for fighting room. He drew his sword as he got to his feet and slashed the large apelike creature's belly open, turning with the swing to slice through both legs. The yeti crumbled before him and he remembered how his drill master would bellow 'put your back into it' as he brought the weapon down on its head with all his strength.

The bear struck from behind, bowling him over and sending him sliding across the snow to crash against a boulder. Dazed and shaken he tried to stand but his legs would not obey him. Ursius weaved from side to side as it studied him, gathering itself for a final charge. The spearhead had caught in its heaving chest but the shaft had been broken off too short, rendering it useless. The massive bear lumbered towards him and he realized that if he couldn't out run it, all it had to do was fall on him to kill him.

Cursing, he gave in then to the will to live and called upon the Light to heal. The holy power, long denied, poured into his body bearing with it the corruption of fel magic and for a moment the sacred and the profane fought for dominion of his mind. He opened himself up to both and the hunger in every particle of his being roused with such ferocity he groaned out loud as the demon magic's seductive fire coursed through bones and flesh, threatening to overpower him.

A rumbling growl from the bear brought him back to the here and now and he saw that it had crawled closer. It coughed and a trickle of blood ran down its jaw. He looked into its dark eye and saw his death waiting there. A laugh burst from him then as he wondered what was the use – why not end it here.

He couldn't do it. He could not lay there and let the beast kill him. Allowing a small thread of magic to seep through his control, he cast a minor heal and then the aura of devotion, the protective spell enveloping him with a faint ringing of chimes. He got up on knees trembling with the joy of new found strength but he dared not try to stand.

The bear had managed to shamble close enough to attack him. He called upon the Seal of Light and he could not help smiling as its glow enveloped him. So shall you be judged, he whispered and released the seal's energy. The huge bear's head went up as the magic tore through its body and then with a groan it collapsed in the snow and slid to a halt against him.

Settling back on his legs, he stared into the empty eye of the dead beast. He had vowed to never use his stolen Light given abilities and yet here again that promise was broken. Apparently his honor was not so great that he was willing to die rather than break said vows. He raised his hand and with one finger traced a slash in the air, thinking, there's one more sin on the pile.


	2. A Friendship Betrayed

He shivered as the cold reached in through his armor and made itself known, turning every drop of sweat on his body into ice. As he stood and canceled his spells, he snorted with bitter laughter at himself for hiding his cheats. He wearily pushed at the corpse but was unable to get to the spearhead and went in search of his sword. The snow had stopped and with the smell of fresh blood on the air, he knew company he'd rather miss would soon be arriving to steal his prize. He found the weapon not far from the yeti's body then staggered back to the bear and laboriously hacked at its neck behind the massive skull until the head finally rolled free.

"Demon!" he called then listened for his mount's acknowledging bray. Silence was his only answer for several moments and then he heard approaching hoof beats. The charger stopped its run with a spray of snow, then walked up to him, bobbing its head from side to side. At first it nuzzled his shoulder but knowing the beast, he quickly turned his head to dodge its snapping teeth. He slung the bear's head on the saddle and tied it down. "Ready to go in for the night?" he asked the creature. The charger bobbed its head and took off without waiting for him, as usual. He picked up a handful of snow and scrubbed at his sword before settling it in its scabbard and following his mount.

A wave of fatigue slowed his steps as the skin on his head and across his shoulders tensed and released in ripples. Traces of magic shivered through his spine and down his legs, bringing with it that same gnawing feeling of shame, but he would not give in and renew the spells. He could almost hear it laughing at him as it boiled just out of his mental reach, refusing to return to its cage. He sighed, knowing it was a fight he would not win and looked up to search for his mount. The charger was not in sight. Was there nothing in his life that he could command to obey him, he wondered.

Everlook lay ahead, its walls sketched out against the night by a few lights within the village. He put his head down and resumed plodding towards shelter and the hope of a hot meal. As he neared the flightpath clearing, he noticed the master was not at his post while the huge leathery winged wind riders snored atop their stands. He trudged on to where the riding beasts had been tethered against the village's outer wall and a figure stepped out from the shadows, a hand raised in greeting.

"Ceawlin? Ceawlin Farinmail, is that you?"

He immediately recognized the voice and held out his hand to grasp the other blood knight's arm. "Condidan! Good to see you. What are you doing here in this gods forsaken land?"

"I'm here to take you home," Condidan said, his voice low but firm.

"My home is where I make it now, brother," he said as he took a step back, hoping that this time Condidan would listen and understand. "I can't go back. You were my friend, once. For that I beg you – let me be."

The other paladin nodded as if he had anticipated that answer and reached for the two-handed sword on his back as he called upon his retribution aura. Ceawlin felt his last hope die as he renewed his, the magic leaping out to obey. At least he had the satisfaction of seeing the other man start in surprise at how quickly it had answered his summon. He immediately punched Condidan in the face, stunning the other man and knocking him down.

"Demon," he yelled as he ran for the town gate. The goblins' strict rule of no armed combat within the Everlook walls was going to be the only thing saving him from killing a friend – an enemy now, he realized with sorrow. If any guards were awake he just needed enough time to get his two-handed sword off his charger so he could defend himself until they arrived.

He heard running steps behind him; Condidan had been quick to recover, damn his hide. A quick survey of one end of the town center to the other showed that his charger was nowhere in sight. Ceawlin ran to the inn, only to find the door locked. He pounded on the heavy door with the butt end of his sword but no one came to open it. He turned to face the other man who confidently walked towards him as if he had all the time in the world. There was a slight sound as if the wind had suddenly risen and swooped down around the doorway but Ceawlin did not feel its touch. A tremor shook him from head to toe as he realized it could only mean there was a rogue nearby and between the two of them he was as good as dead.

"You underestimate the reach of the Blood Knights, Ceawlin," Condidan said as he drew near. "You will shame us no more." He raised his sword but before he could complete the swing, he suddenly dropped to his knees, his head lolling on his shoulders.

Surprised at the sudden turn of events, Ceawlin backed up until he heard the inn door's nail heads tap his armor through his cloak. The silence of the night stretched on but the rogue did not show himself. Condidan's body finally slumped to the ground, blood a pooling blackness in the trampled, dirty snow.

Fuck but this was bad: a dead body at his feet and him with a bared weapon in his hands. Had the real plan been to make it look as if he had killed the paladin? Certainly that would put him away for good and wrap things up very well indeed. He looked from side to side of the small town but still no guards appeared. Where were the other players in this farce? By Sylvie's tits, trap or not, he was going to go down fighting he decided and set a consecration spell under his feet, devoting the ground only to him to bring out his hidden enemy.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement and spun about to face the new threat. A short figure, disguised with hood and cloak, had stepped out from around the corner of the inn and stood facing him with hands on hips. Ceawlin had only a moment for that information sink in before there was a hard tap on his shoulder and he turned around just in time to see the mace before it slammed against his head.


	3. Search and You Will Find

Argel MacCoinnick jumped out of the glowing hallowed ground and then leaning against the side of the building, took off one of her boots to inspect the sole. "Dammit! If he ruined my good boots I'm cuttin' new ones outta his hide," she said.

Reprisals waited patiently as she checked her footwear. Newly married to Argel's sister, he had learned how important shoes were to a woman and therefore one must be quietly respectful in such times of stress.

Satisfied with the condition of her boots, Argel straightened and walked back to the two bodies. "Help me pull him out, Rep," she said as she tugged at the blond paladin's arm. "The spell's 'bout gone." She pointed at the engineering hut. "Let's take him in there. Then you strip the other one and take the body out far enough the bears'll get it."

"Why not jes' leave 'em for the wind riders?" Rep said as he picked up the unconscious blood elf and slung him across his shoulders. "They ain't picky"

Argel shook her head as they headed for the small hut. "Naw, they've been drugged – and the hippogryphs too. Both flight masters are gone, same as all the folk here. Somebody's been slingin' some damn heavy coin about to make sure this party was by invite only."

"Well, he ain't gonna know," Rep said as he tossed the elf upon the engineer's table.

"Well, we'll just see what's what," Argel said. "Now off with ya."

Reprisals huffed at her, puffing out his mask and making it flutter. "Damn, orderin' meh 'bout like yews married ta meh."

"Well, yeah ya did," Argel said, laughing. "You'se stupid a'nuff to marry my sister, you'se family now, Rep. Best you be takin' off 'fore I decide to see what has Tiergan so fascinated about you, huh."

Argel snorted with malicious humor as she watched the dwarf scurry out to take care of the dead blood elf. She did not intend to ever even blow a kiss at her brother-in-law but it was too much fun teasing him.

Reaching under the blood elf's chin, Argel released his helmet's buckle and pulled it off his head. A smile tugged her mouth to one side at the length of yellow hair now exposed and she took off one of her gloves to touch it with her bare hand. There were women who would kill without a second thought to have hair that color and for it to be that soft, too.

He groaned and she reached into her pocket for a vial. With the tip of one finger she parted his lips to let a single drop fall from the small container into his mouth. His eyes jerked from side to side under their lids and then finally stilled. Sleep well, little prince, she silently bade him.

He was pretty; she had to give him that, with chiseled, refined features. The hair on his face had grown into a beard, but compared to a human's, it was thin and much softer. Most male blood elves did have facial hair of one type or another, but he was the first she had ever seen with a full beard and moustache. The long, arching extensions of his eyebrows flexed under her fingers much like the extended tips of his ears.

Under his battered plate chestpiece and leathers he wore a simple linen shirt, stained and damp with sweat. Sparse, fine hairs covered his chest. What truly surprised her were the scars that crisscrossed his body and the puncture wounds on one arm that were still an angry red. A paladin who didn't heal himself? What kind of fool was he, she wondered.

Next to go on the pile of gear on the floor were his greaves and the rest of his protective leathers until the only thing he had on were his braies. She unfastened the top button and felt around the waistband but found no hidden pockets. A giggle almost burst from her lips at the thought of further mischief there but she decided she should finish searching through his things first.

Reprisals returned just as she threw down the last piece of the paladin's gear in disgust. "Ah, lass! Wha'cher be doin'?" he said as he picked up the elf's shirt and threw it in the general direction of its owner's barely concealed nethers.

Argel snorted. "You didn't miss out on anythin', Rep. Nuthin' to find. His gear is old and 'bout worn out; his leathers are more patches than anythin' else. Had a few silver 'n' copper on him; that was it." She went back to the table and stared down at the drugged elf. "Maybe what Fahrad wanted is not on him, but in him."

Rep looked from her to the elf. "Wot. Yer gonna cut 'em open now, lass?"

Not bothering to answer her brother-in-law, she bent over the elf to pull open an eyelid and then silently chided herself for forgetting how intensely their eyes glowed. Since there was no way to check how far under he was by that method and give him the correct amount of antidote, she would have to guess and hope for the best. Then again if he died, one less blood elf in the world was not all together a bad thing.

Reaching into a pocket in her vest, she made a selection from one of the tiny vials in her hand and let a few drops fall into the corner of his mouth then stepped back, putting the table between them. After a count of five his eyes flew open and Argel drew both her daggers as the elf rolled to his feet.


	4. No Escape

"What the hell! Who are you," Ceawlin demanded of the two shrouded figures as he pulled up and fastened his sagging underwear.

"Sorry, hon, no blue ribbon but I bet it'd win best ornamental," a human female voice said, her atrocious accent mangling the Common language. "Mind your manners now and I'll toss you your gear."

Ceawlin held up both hands and turned to the taller figure, guessing that was who had spoken. At a slight signal from her the shorter heavyset person, a dwarf by the size, pawed through the pile of his gear before tossing some to him. His shirt fell to the floor and he reached for it without thinking. At the sound of their leather gear creaking, he froze with hand outstretched; suddenly realizing what his sudden movement had nearly cost him. After a moment he pulled the garment to him and rested on his haunches as he checked it for tears, every inch the fearless and nonchalant hero. Once he was dressed he pulled out the chair and sat down to wait for their next move.

The woman walked up to him and under the broad brim of her hat what he could see of her hair was a common shade of brown. Eyes of the same muddy color met his over the edge of her black mask. Judging by the thickness of the other's body he would guess he was a male dwarf, though truth be known sometimes it was hard to tell the difference in the sexes of that race. Alliance rogues the both of them and no friends of Condidan's. What god's sash had he twisted to be in this mess, he wondered with a cold, sinking feeling that went to the pit of his stomach.

"Now, just what is it we have here," the female rogue said. "A pallie who don't always use his powers and marked for death by his own kind. Ain't no out blackin' the black so what did you do to set 'em off, pretty man?" She frowned at Ceawlin when he shrugged and presented her with his best self depreciating smile. "Playin' the innocent, then, aren't you, pallie. Stealin' from the good and just in the world to feed your addiction." The muscle in her jaw bulged as she clenched her teeth. "You're nothing but a common thief."

She sheathed her knives and straightened, hands on hips. "Or perhaps, you've decided to be honorable," she spat, making the word a curse. "Give up what you stole. Taking that road would mark you for death by your own kind. Is that why you throw yourself at every sharp object you can find? Rather an honorable death than a knife in the back or …" She paused and studied him for moment. "Better an honorable death than being used as a pawn by the other side," she said softly.

The dwarf rogue raised his hand to his masked face, as if brushing away something that had suddenly landed there. Ceawlin realized he was signaling to the other that she had dropped her gutter dialect. Had she unwittingly done so, he wondered … in anger …?

"What am I to you," he said, playing on his hunch. "Am I perhaps a mirror? Do I see an honorable rogue before me?" He dared not smile or laugh, no matter how preposterous that sounded. "Does your conscience set you against your own?"

Her self control was so complete the sound of her leather gloves tightening as she gripped her knives again was the only indication he had struck home. He closed his eyes and canted his head to one side, hoping she would accept that small apology.

"Time to go," she said without turning to the other rogue. "I have my answer."

Ceawlin raised his eyes to hers again hoping his face did not reflect the fear twisting his gut. She slowly nodded and in a show of disdain, turned her back on him as she went out the door.

Standing in the shadows of the armor shop, Argel smiled when she finally saw movement in the engineering hut's doorway, amused it had taken the blood elf that long to feel brave enough to venture outside. It had been very gratifying to see that spasm of fear cross his face when he had looked into her face.

They watched as the paladin made a quick scan of the town before whistling for his mount. As soon as the charger was near enough he cut the ties on the bear's head, letting it fall to the ground before swinging into the saddle and heading out the town gate without a backward glance.

"Tell Fahrad what little we know, Rep," she said. "I'll keep in contact through the usual channels."

"Argel … lass," Rep said. "He's not a pet. Fahrad won't forgive ya, ya cross him again." At her frown he clumsily patted her arm. "There, there, lass. Jus' watch yerself, please?" He sighed heavily, his face folded in mournful creases.

"Shut it, you," she said, pointing a finger at him and went to get her horse. No sooner had she turned away than Rep's petty concerns were shelved and forgotten.

Smart money was on the pally going back to his cache, she decided. He'd grab what he could and then disappear again. The pass going through to the south was infested with demons so he'd probably head west for the Timbermaw Hold. Once he was among the furbolgs he could either go to Felwood or to Moonglade. She was more than willing to put down gold he would go to the one in Moonglade. The flightpath there was fairly close to the Hold's exit and the one in Felwood was too far to the south.

Reprisals watched his sister-in-law ride off and sighed again. He knew she now had nothing else on her mind but the chase and he pitied the poor man for when she would catch him. A force of nature, that one, he thought grimly. He looked about the empty town, noting that there were only a few more hours to the night before it was done and it was time for him to pack up as well. There hadn't been enough fighting by his reckoning and certainly not enough beer, either. Oh, well. He dusted off his hands and went to make doubly sure all traces of them were cleaned up, just in case.

After setting a false trail leading off to the south, Ceawlin took a round about route back to the road. He chanced being seen by all and sundry but it was more important that he stay ahead of the rogues. Other than being too damned nosey, there was no reason he could see why the Alliance were interested in him. Condidan and his like would see his desertion as a blow to their pride, something Blood Elves were far too concerned with, but beyond a minor dustup now and then they left him alone. All he'd had to do before was disappear for a bit and things would blow over. Now with his brother-in-arms dead that wasn't going to work anymore. Fucking Alliance screwed him over but good, the gods damn them and their fucking arrogance.

Argel leaned over her horse's neck as she reined it in a circle around the remains of the paladin's cache. There were tracks leading off the mountainside to the south but she dismissed them as being a desperate feint at best. She patted Ruddy's neck and urged him into a gallop west to the Timbermaw Hold. If the pally thought her horse would be hampered by the terrain, he was going to be sadly disappointed. The mountains of Winterspring were a stroll in the park for a horse born and raised in the Badlands, where hills of loose rock weeded out the stupid and less nimble. The paladin was about to learn he couldn't outsmart either of them.


	5. A Demand Refused

The rising sun haloed the mountains on his right where they finally sloped down to a valley lower than the road. It was here he could cut through the Winterfalls' settlement to the Timbermaw Hold and he turned the charger's head towards the sharp incline. No sooner had the road been put behind them than the beast slid to a halt, bit in teeth, and refused to move no matter how hard he kicked at its sides. The sound of the wind picked up suddenly but he did not feel it move past him nor see its passage through the trees. He sat in the saddle for a moment, shocked that the rogues had not only figured out where he had gone but had beaten him there.

"Run, you fucking bastard," he shouted as he kicked the charger, startling it into jumping forward. He yelled again as the creature buckled under him, throwing him into the snow. Cursing at himself for falling for the trap, he scrambled over the beast to get to his two-handed sword. His mount had not fallen on the side where his weapon was holstered, thank the gods, and he pulled it free with no problem. No, the sticky part was that the magic for his spells was gone and the moment the rogues saw him calling on it again, he was as good as dead.

He held his breath for a moment, his weapon raised before him, as he listened for the crunch of snow compressed underfoot or the telltale sound of a rogue sidestepping into the shadows. The eerie silence stretched on without even the call of a bird to break it. What were they waiting for? He took a cautious sliding step backward, towards the Winterfalls' village, then stopped and waited for the rogues to show themselves.

The high pitched warbling call coming from behind him nearly made him jump out of his skin. He whirled around to face his attacker, only to see a horse leap off the top of the ridge, graceful as a deer as it bounded from ledge to ledge, its rider sitting tight as a burr on its back. He raised his sword again, then whipped it around his back to his other hand without it meeting any resistance and took off for the furbolgs' village. Something heavy clanged against the armor on his back and he ducked, cursing as the knee high snow drifts slowed him down.

When he looked for the rider again, he saw that the horse was heading his way and he stopped to gauge its progress for an opening to slash at its legs. Then he realized with a sickening jolt that the rider was gone. Change of plans, he decided, grab the horse! Just as he stepped into its path, someone barreled into him from behind, knocking him to the ground. He turned over to be greeted by an orc's face split in a fang filled grin as the horse sailed over both of them. The orc raised his dagger, then shuddered and grunted as if he had been hit. The rogue's eyes bulged from their sockets as sweat broke out over his face, his green skin darkening while his weapon trembled in his hand. Ceawlin smashed him in the face with his fist and the orc fell over to lie in the snow, his empty eyes staring unblinking at the sky.

The sound of tempered metal striking metal drew Ceawlin's attention past the orc's body. A tall, lanky troll and a much smaller human circled each other, now and then testing each others' reflexes. Ceawlin realized with a start of surprise that the human was the female rogue from Everlook. The troll jabbed at the woman, which she deftly turned aside, then their blades blurred as they danced for an opening to strike. There was a gasp and a strange rasping sound from the troll, who grabbed his chest and fell to the ground.

He watched her walk towards him, her shoulders slumped, her knives hanging from the chains on her wrists as if forgotten. She stopped within a few feet of him and pulled her mask down. At her narrow eyed, determined look he immediately raised his own weapon. A slow smile crossed her lips as she slung the knives back into her hands and began to circle him.

"Your fault you know. Forcing my hand," she said softly. A feint and she came at him, both knives raised but he blocked her strikes easily. She was playing with him.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said. "I appreciate you taking the orc off me so let's call it even."

Anger twisted her face as she leaped at him and he used the flat of his blade to knock her aside. She rolled with the blow and suddenly she was inside his arms, her fists resting on his chest, her knives pointing towards his feet. He dropped his sword and grabbed both her wrists, bringing up one knee to snap one of her knives out of her grasp but she put her hands behind her back, pulling his with them.

"Got yourself a handful, do you pally?" she said, smiling up at him, her eyes half closed and her face flushed with high color. Her breasts strained against the fabric of her jerkin with each slow, deep breath. Her lips parted, revealing the pink tip of her tongue caught in white teeth. She leaned into him so forcefully he staggered and had to grip her shoulders to keep from falling.

There was a clang as his belt hit the top of his sabatons, startling him, and then he felt her hands reaching under the back of his chestplate. The heat of her skin on his sent a shiver racing through him, making every hair on his body stand on end, all the way up to the crown of his head.

"No lock is safe from a rogue, you know," she whispered as she brought her head forward to tap his chestplate and dislodge her hat. He caught the faint smell of roses as her long brown hair flowed down her shoulders. She raised his hand and placed it at the back of her head. "Don't you want to touch my hair?" she whispered. "Twist it in your hand and make me do anything you want." She swayed from side to side as her hips ground against him. "Anything."

He shook with desire but at the same time horrified at his own arousal. Something in the sound of her voice made him release her and step back. In an instant her melting pose was gone and her face twisted with a snarl as she swung at him, knives in both hands. He kicked at her but she sidestepped and pivoted under his defenses again and then was behind him. There was an instant of burning pain as his skin was ripped open, then nothing as a wave of numbness spread down his spine and his legs crumbled under him.

She pulled a vial out her pocket and taking him by the jaw, forced his mouth open to pour its contents on his tongue. "Swallow it – now – or you're a dead man."

He did as ordered, just as the first cramps throughout his entire body made him sag forward to curl around the pain. "Damn bitch," he finally managed to whisper. "Now you get to sew me up too."


	6. More Than What Meets the Eye

"Not here," she said as she jerked at his shoulder armor, awakening the wound with searing fire. Icy wind whipped across his bared skin and then something even colder was laid over the cut, making him hiss at the pain. "I got a patch on you that should last you a bit. Maybe even get you past those bearmen, if you're lucky."

"Unlike you, apparently, I'm in good favor with them," he croaked past the thick phlegm in his throat as he got to his feet. Of course his charger had left again, he saw after checking the spot where it had fallen, damn its black heart. He reached down with his good hand and picked up his belt, frowning at the rogue as he clumsily buckled it around his waist.

"Don't be lookin' at me like that," she said, that horrible accent once more warping the Common speech. "All you had to do was go along an' none ah this would have happened."

He carefully stooped and rescued his sword from the snow, wishing in vain for the oiled rags in his pack as he brushed it off. "Have you ever considered that by not letting someone refuse, you are actually not asking?"

When she didn't answer, he looked up at her. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Hardly," she drawled in perfect Thalassian. "Now call your horse – what was its name? Demon?"

"Demon is not its name; that's what it is," he said, scanning the shallow valley again and then checking the sun's height. "I don't care to call for it and draw attention. Not when you've made enough noise to bring everybody from miles around." He started down the slope towards the hot springs, keeping the small rustic lean-tos of the Winterfalls' village on his right. They might be able to get to the Timbermaw Hold before nightfall, he thought. If they were lucky.

At the sound of quick hoof beats coming up behind him he steeled himself for impact, wondering if she would stoop to using her horse to bump him into a snow bank. To his surprise she pulled up in front of him, bringing him to a halt.

"Get on," she said, patting her horse's rump. "He's stronger than he looks."

Ceawlin stepped back, hands on hips, and scrutinized the animal. A bit on the small size, the horse was an ordinary brown color without any special attributes in its conformation. Then he remembered how surefooted it had been coming down the side of the mountain as if on wings. Perhaps, just like its owner, there was more to it than what met the eye.

She took her foot out the stirrup and held out her hand to help him mount behind her. The horse danced under the double load for a bit before setting off at a walk. Ceawlin discovered the rogue's clothing wasn't loose enough to provide a handle for him to grab and with an inner wince of dread, he put both hands on her waist. To his relief she made no comment.

Once the blood elf was settled, Argel urged Ruddy into a ground eating gait, mindful that her mount's rolling stride and the saddle were not what she really wanted between her legs. Too bad the pally hadn't been up for it, she thought with sullen disappointment. It had been a long time since she had had any fun on a job. No, she would have to think of another way to get in under his skin so he would want to keep her around. Why the Horde had sent assassins after him and how he had managed to live so long crippled as he was without spells were mysteries she had every intention of solving. Fahrad would have to rank her as one of his best rogues then.

They made good time, stopping only a few times to rest the horse before continuing but there were no further attacks. The sun had not fallen too far from zenith when Argel took to the main road again where it led into the Timbermaw Hold. As soon as the shape of the Hold's cave-like mouth could be made out from the snow covered mountainside, the paladin told her to stop and he dismounted.

"Get down off the horse and follow me," he said. "Keep maybe a few feet back while I talk to Salfa."

"No, maybe I should keep a few miles back," she said. "The Hold used to be one of my playgrounds, if you get my meaning."

"Then stay right behind me," he said frowning, disgust plainly showing on his face. "Better that he knows from the beginning that I travel with a viper."

If he expected her to protest at that statement, he was going to be disappointed, she thought as she slid down from the horse's back. Gods above, she knew what she was; how else would she be a successful rogue?

She stroked Ruddy's soft nose, whispering calming commands before looping his reins through one hand while she took hold of his bride with the other. At her nod to him the paladin started down the road to the yawning Hold mouth where the rocks around it had been shaped into a huge bear head, complete with fangs. She took a deep breath and clicked her tongue to set Ruddy into motion.

They hadn't gotten very far when the air shuddered with a roar as a large white fur clad body barreled towards them. Salfa had come to say hello.


	7. Payback

The paladin reached behind him and pulled her against his back while presenting his opposing shoulder to the raging bearman who stopped with his muzzle scant inches from the man's face. The creature loomed over them as it howled, the feathers on its simple beaded necklace quivering from the force of its anger. It compulsively opened and closed its handpaws as if it meant to rip them to pieces with its claws.

"I know," the paladin said, "but she saved my life and I am honor bound to repay her."

Argel gasped in surprise that the man and the beast were able to communicate with each other when all she heard were growls and grunts from the creature. And it understood common!

"We ask for a place to rest for the night, my friend, then passage through the Hold." After another spate of howling from the furbolg, the paladin continued, "If she harms anyone I will kill her myself, Salfa."

At that the bearman leaned over the paladin's shoulder to snort at her, peppering her face with snot. Argel flinched and then met the creature's eye, mustering every ounce of skill to keep her face smooth and emotionless. Its jaws gaped in huffing laughter and she studied its teeth, thinking how nice they would look about her neck as jewelry.

Satisfied that his point was made, Salfa led the way into the Timbermaw Hold and the paladin stepped aside to let her go in front of him. As she came abreast of the elf, Argel looked up into his face but his expression gave nothing away. She sighed, mentally cursing everything elven, especially green glowing eyes that were impossible to read, and followed Salfa into the Hold. The bearman stopped and conferred with two of its kinsmen at the entrance, who then ran down the stone pathway roaring as they went.

Once past the entry, the smell of flowers and earth on the warmer air of the Hold greeted them as it flowed on its way to the frozen region they'd left behind. Whole logs had been stitched together with thick ropes along the passageway to hold back the earthen sides of the tunnel, while roots hung as dry fingers from the ceiling. Ahead, a massive tree that had been hollowed and shaped had been laid across a deep cleft in the rock as a bridge.

A distant bellowing intensified as a mob of brown furred furbolgs came running towards them over the bridge and the paladin grabbed her by both arms and held her with her back against him to face the mob. Argel instinctively tried to twist away but when he didn't release her, she played out Ruddy's reins to the end and then wrapped them several times around her palm before closing her fingers into fist. The bearmen crowded around them, snapping their teeth at her and splashing her face with spit and snot. She held her head high and refused to make a sound, glaring at them with her teeth clenched as they waved their claws inches from her face. One of them snagged her hat, yanking her hair, while another grabbed and shook her arm as if to pull her out of the paladin's grasp. Ruddy reared, screaming, and at her cry of dismay and concern for her horse, the beasts' roars grew louder and some huffed in laughter.

"Enough!" the paladin shouted.

The Timbermaws backed away from her then, the sudden and complete silence almost deafening, as their ranks parted all the way to the bridge. The paladin pushed her forward and released her as Salfa took up the lead again, his jaws gaping in a toothy grin. As she passed the furbolgs, each one growled softly but not one moved towards her again. Once across the bridge Salfa led them down a branching path to a small alcove where another white furred bearman stood with two others, one with black fur and another with grey fur who was taller and more powerfully built. The paladin went to the big furbolg and bowed before it while Salfa touched Argel's arm when she slowed to watch. At her glare, he coughed sharply, wiping at his nose, and then pointed to where a round wooden door stood open between two torches that did nothing to illuminate the darkness beyond them.

There was a tug on the reins around her hand. Salfa had taken hold of the slack between her and Ruddy and once he saw he had her attention, the furbolg jerked them again. She unwounded the leather straps and let them fall, then massaged her hand when she saw how they had chaffed her skin. Salfa pushed her towards the door again and she complied, noting how calmly Ruddy stood beside the bearman.

At the door she whirled and flattened herself against the inner wall, but if the furbolg was disappointed she had denied it the chance to push her into the room, she didn't get see it. Salfa slammed the door behind her, leaving her in total darkness. She closed her eyes for several moments to allow them to adjust but when she opened them again she still couldn't see any details of the room. For a moment or two she felt disorientated by the lack of reference points until she stretched out one arm and touched the door's hinge.

For all her brave words she hated the place. It echoed with strange sounds she was never able to suss. It was certainly a haunted place with shadows seen only from the corner of the eye that when faced full on were suddenly not there. Too many times her skin would pucker and twitch from an unseen, unknown touch until she wanted to scream. She needed to stop thinking about it or she was going to go crazy.

The wall at her back felt like it had been constructed in the same woven log and rope manner as the ones she'd seen earlier and when she slid her foot across the floor, it was uneven as if it was only packed dirt. From the smell there was a midden somewhere in the room but it hadn't been used in quite a while; the stink had almost mellowed. Getting down on hands and knees she went exploring and found an empty stone ringed fire pit. She sat beside it, listening for any sign that she shared the room and waited for the next move in the game.


	8. What's in a Name?

There was a slight sound, like a varmint moving through the litter in the room. She held her breath for a moment to listen for clues of what it was and if it was moving towards her. There had been many a night in the Stormwind orphanage when she had been awakened by the touch of tiny paws. At the thought of cold, dirty feet running over her skin she stood and reached for the closest wall, hoping that if she kept moving whatever it was wouldn't jump on her.

After her third circuit of the room, the cuts where the furbolgs had scratched her began to sting and burn. She shivered, remembering how close they had pushed their snouts at her, the stink of their breath as they had snapped their teeth in her face. Their roars still rang in her ears and she covered them with her hands as if that would stop the sounds from playing over and over in her mind.

The door was thrown open with such force it hit the wall behind it a bang. She gasped out loud at the sudden loud noise and stepped back to huddle against the wall. The paladin walked in with two lit torches bellowing and hissing and she hid her face from the blinding light. He placed the torches in holders, one on each side of the room, and then went back to the doorway. She blinked away tears, not daring to touch her face since her hands were probably filthy from exploring the room. Salfa came in with an armload of firewood while another bearman brought in a bucket, its weight pulling the furbolg to one side. Once the fire was lit and the bucket, which she hoped was full of water, set beside it, the two creatures left, shutting the door behind them.

"Clean yourself up; you're a mess," the paladin said as he set her pack at her feet. "And make it quick. My shoulder is bleeding again."

She knelt and flipped the pack open to search for her mirror. True enough; the face that greeted her when she looked in the glass was a dirty disgrace with an especially embarrassing dark smear under the nose. Her bandages and supplies of the like were in a separate bag and she pulled it out and went to the fire to see what was in the bucket. The battered container had indeed been filled with water and she carefully dipped a small bowl from her bag into it for her personal use. Her hands were shaking so much that when the two containers struck each other, the ring of metal on metal made her wince in embarrassment. Sudden tears rose in her eyes and she had to bite her lower lip to help her concentrate as she cleaned every bit of dirt off her face and out from underneath her fingernails.

Finally clean enough to at least help him off with his armor, she stood and gave in to the shivers, even shaking herself to make them quickly run their course and leave her. When she met the paladin's eyes, he frowned at her as if he thought she had lost her mind. She shrugged with an impatient sigh before going to his side.

"Lift your arm," she said, motioning at his wounded one. "I can take it off faster without your help."

"That's right," he said as he did as ordered. "You have done this before."

Her only answer was to growl softly at him before relieving him of gauntlets and bracers in short order. Bending down under one of his arms, she undid the straps on his chestpiece with nimble fingers before removing it and setting it on the floor. There was a smile on his face as he watched her hands free the ties down the front of his leathers, but she refused to acknowledge it as she carefully pulled the protective garment off of him. The linen shirt under it was a sodden mess of sweat and blood but she took care removing it just the same. He would need the protection it provided between his skin and the leathers once she had him patched up.

Now naked down to his waist, the paladin settled heavily to the ground and she knelt behind him to take a good look at the wound. The edges were black, which wasn't a good sign, and fresh blood was seeping out of it. The shakes returned when she took his hair in both hands. He didn't say anything, not even a grunt of annoyance, when her suddenly clumsy fingers accidentally caught and pulled some of the strands. She braided the soft, fine hair as best she could; vexed with herself at how terrible it looked, before handing the ends to him to hold out of her way.

Of course now she need to wash her hands again but when she returned to her pack for her supplies she had to stop for a moment and decide what to do first. She had never felt so befuddled before. Her mind felt like it was full of mush.

"Lucky for me you hit like a girl," he said as she walked back to him. "What did you use – your pocket knife?"

"Don't need much," she said as she cleaned the wound's edges. "Not where poison is concerned."

He grunted; whether or not it was in pain, she didn't care. "Why don't you just heal yourself, paladin," she said. "Or is that tied in with that saying of yours about asking for things? You know, that is a funny thing for you to be spoutin'. Your kind did steal and imprison an Emissary of the Light and you siphon its magic for your own use. Hell if that's asking!"

He made no answer as she daubed the open wound with a healing potion. She looked down for her supplies and then realized with sinking feeling that she hadn't brought them back with her from her last trip. Well, it was probably best that she should wash her hands again anyway.

"What's your name," he said when she resumed her position at his back. "Or, at least, what do you go by?" He flinched when the needle entered his skin, then straightened and held himself still as she sewed the wound shut.

"Mine is Ceawlin Farinmail," he said when she didn't answer. "I'm no one special, not even my family." When she didn't comment, he went on, saying, "I'm going to call you May, short for Maybe since there is no knowing what you might do."


	9. A Wall Shatters

Finishing off the seam with a tidy knot, she then covered it with a bandage. On the way to replace her medical bag in her pack, she stooped and picked up his shirt and noticed there were several places where it needed repairs. Her oilskin bucket would be perfect for soaking the garment before washing and sewing it up, she decided. A sudden wave of fatigue nearly had her stumbling like a drunk, but she impatiently pushed aside the thought of sleep. She had too many things to do.

The paladin cleared his throat. "Well, by not allowing someone to refuse, their personal desires and needs mean nothing to you. They are things to be used or discarded as you see fit …"

A vision came to her then that she stood in an open field among brown stalks of grain, gasping to breathe the lifeless air. Under her feet the leaves began to twist and curl until they dissolved into a grey dust. The destruction flowed outward in all directions until death surrounded her as far as she could see, revealing black, sharp edged boulders and the perfectly preserved bones of long dead friendships and loves.

"… and then you have to wonder what have you become when you can … kill without remorse …"

He went on in that soft voice, unaware of how each word went deep and disturbed sediment she thought had long ago safely turned to stone. She could feel the wall shifting and groaning as the cracks spread open over the hurt that surged upwards. Couldn't he hear her screaming, begging him to stop, to shut his mouth? A cry of protest finally escaped her lips and he looked up at her. The unadulterated concern on his face was the last thing the weakened wall could bear … and … it … broke.

* * *

It was a small, insignificant sound, not unlike a newborn kitten's mew of protest at the cold world, but it sent a pang of apprehension through his heart that made him jump to his feet. "What happened? What's wrong, May?"

She stared at him without answering, weaving on trembling legs, her dark eyes wide and her face a sickly grey color. He rushed to her side just as she clapped both hands over her mouth as if she was about to vomit. Her entire body shook as a groaning, coughing sob burst from between her fingers. Then her chin went up as her eyes rolled back in her head and her knees gave out from under her. He barely had enough time to put his arms around her before her body's unconscious weight took them both to the ground.

They landed hard and he thanked his luck it was on his good shoulder, but the wound had been jolted and began to throb and ache with a vengeance. He rolled her limp body off of him and then sat up to see if she had stuck her head. Her eyelashes were wet with tears and she looked so vulnerable and young laying there, hardly more than a child. There weren't any bruises on her head or any bleeding and her breathing was slow and deep. He carefully got to his feet and went to the door, rapping out the signal on the heavy wood before opening it. The furbolg guard took his request for bedding without comment and he went back to watch over the rogue.

He had once killed children as young as her. No, rather he should admit what it really had been – murder. He had been ordered to lead a battleplate geared squad to attack Quel'Lithien Lodge. The defenders had been youngsters caught off guard and armed only with shovels and picks. They had looked no different than him; kin long sundered, yes, but of the same blood nevertheless. The face of the last one standing, a determined, brave soul he would have been proud to call brother, had haunted his dreams for months afterwards.

Salfa himself came in followed by another furbolg carrying two bundles that when unrolled were revealed to be thick mats along with blankets. The white furred bearman stooped down to sniff the sleeping girl's face. _So you have yet to kill her, then_, he said. _I pray you do not regret that._

"As do I," Ceawlin said, smiling at Salfa's quaint wording. "But come the morning we will be parting ways and hopefully I will never see her again."

Salfa tilted his head and his ears swiveled as if he were listening to something beyond Ceawlin's ken. _The Great Mother's own good luck with that,_ he said, his jaw gaping in a toothy grin. _I'm afraid you can't trust any of us to help you move her. Trash on the floor, so to speak. I bid you good night._


	10. Bad Dreams

Ceawlin watched the furbolgs leave, not bothering to hide the smile on his face at the elder's comment. Once the door had shut behind them he hunkered down next to the girl, who slept on with the fingers of one hand wrapped around the thumb and pushed against her face. The furbolgs' treatment of her hadn't been that harsh, he thought, but to have been thrown in a dark hole for several hours as well must have been more than her nerves could stand. Probably all she needed was to sleep it off.

He pulled one of the mats closer to her and bent down to roll her over onto it. No sooner had he put his hands under her than she reached up and clawed at him, leaving lines of fire across his bare chest.

"Don't leave me!" she gasped, as if breaking the surface of deep water dreams. Her wide eyes searched the room without seeing him, her mind lost in a terrifying inner world.

"I'm right here," he said as pushed her down on the mat. "I'm not going anywhere." She started shivering again and he covered her with a blanket, tucking it tightly around her. Tears ran down her face from behind closed eyes and she began to whisper in a language he didn't understand, the sounds laced with pain. At the touch of his hand on her shoulder, she sighed and slipped back into sleep.

Her scratches had left painful welts and some had places that were bleeding sluggishly. She had certainly washed her hands enough times but he decided to look through her medicine kit for something to put on the scrapes just the same. Each flask had been carefully labeled and even as tired as she had been her things were neatly stacked in her bags. The only problem was that he couldn't decipher her writing. It would take him hours to suss out what each vial contained. The only thing he was certain of was the soap and he washed up with it, grateful that it was something that looked and smelled the same no matter who made it.

Once his wounds were cleaned and dried, he removed the rest of his armor and then ground out one of the torches. He picked up the other blanket and settled down beside the girl, careful not to touch her. The gods willing, they would both get enough rest, he prayed.

The flames on the walls roared but the wooden church was not consumed. The pool of blood under the dead man did not darken nor did it sink into the stone floor. At least the liquid had stopped spreading towards him as if to gift him with the reflections of the conflagration dancing on its surface. He stared out into the darkness beyond the building's threshold, caught between the orders he had been given and the wrongness of those commands as if his soul was in a vise.

The man had seemed a friendly sort for a human, certainly glad to share his sad story of a moment's weakness on the battlefield with a stranger; no matter that their kinds were sworn enemies. He had given his name as Aurius and while he related that he felt his actions had damned him, he was hopeful of a chance to redeem himself. It was not until Ceawlin had taken out the vial in his pocket and poured out the shimmering black liquid it contained to extinguish the eternal flame in the church's fount that the other man had attacked. The roof had exploded into flames above their heads as they had fought but Ceawlin had proved to be the stronger.

There was movement in the darkness of the church's doorway and something huge stepped over the threshold, covered in swirling, crackling flames. As the thing cooled he could see that it had the shape of a horse, with skin the color of dead black ashes and eyes that were pits of fire. He made no move to escape. If it was there to take his soul as punishment for desecrating the shrine, then it was only fitting.

As demon and man studied each other, a golden light began to shine behind Ceawlin, brightening until the flames around them were lost in the glow. The demon-horse's head reddened and the tips of its mane caught fire again. It reared, screaming in rage, and then backed out of the chapel as Ceawlin turned to see that the source of the light was the return of the eternal flame …

… while a pot sitting beside it gave off curls of steam. He bolted upright, startled and confused, then realized he was staring at the small fire in the room he shared with the human female. After rubbing his eyes to clear the effects of the dream, he noticed she had found another hat to wear, a second best one he guessed from its battered state. She had pulled it down so low he couldn't see her eyes. The bottom half of her face was covered with a dark cloth and she sat hunched near the fire, a blanket clenched tightly around her. She turned away as if unable to bear his gaze.

"Bad dreams?" she said as she stirred the contents of the pot. Whatever it was, it smelled delicious.

Ceawlin sat down again on the mat and pushed his hair back with both hands. From that moment in the church he had sworn to never use the Light, no matter the reason. Not when his first use of it had begun with perverting its virtues. "Have you ever been to Stratholme?"

"That cursed place? No. There's nothing worth stealing there," she said, one shoulder lifting in a quick shrug. "I've fixed something to eat and no, it hasn't been poisoned." She held out a small bowl to him and as he stood and took a step closer to take it, she looked down at the ground and her hand trembled.

He looked in askance at the white porridge-like substance. It did smell good enough to set his stomach to growling. The first taste of it in his mouth made the back of his throat ache with pleasure. "This is fantastic," he finally managed to say between bites.

"Heh. Potions, poisons and food – it's all in the cooking," she said, a touch of humor lightening her voice.

He looked up from stuffing his face to smile at her but she had already turned away to stow the utensils back in her bag.


	11. Misconceptions

It was strange how the kindness in his eyes and voice set her heart to racing with elation yet also made her want to cry. She pulled the mask off her face and used it to wipe her eyes. The simplest solution to her problem was to bash his head in but she had misgivings about that being the best way to go about it. Instead she returned to stacking her things back in their places in her bag and cleaning up the best she could under the light of the one torch.

The dirt whispered under his feet as he approached her and his presence was as disturbing as a current in deep water sweeping her willy-nilly into unknown regions. His hand came into her line of sight, startling her, and she gasped out loud before realizing he was only returning the empty bowl to her. She took it from him without comment and concentrated on cleaning it so he wouldn't see how embarrassed she was at her own foolishness.

He went back to his mat and she could tell from the sounds that he was putting his armor back on. "Was there anything left of my shirt?" he said. "Even if it just a rag now, it would be better than wearing the leathers against my skin."

She sprang to her feet and ran to where his shirt hung below the torch. "Here it is," she said, holding it out to him. "Mended and washed." The pleasantly surprised look on his face was almost too much for her to bear. "I'm sorry," she stammered. "Not all the stains came out and my needlework isn't that good but like you said, better than nothing."

"Thank you, May," he said, smiling at her as he shrugged into it. "There is more to you than meets the eye."

"Just remember not to turn your back," she blurted as a wave of bitterness suddenly swept through her. "Can't trust rogues, you know." She steeled herself to meet his eyes, determined not to be the first to look away.

He frowned at her, plainly confused, then went to the door and knocked out a signal against the wood. After speaking to the guard who had opened the door, he went back to his sleeping mat and quickly put on the rest of his armor without saying another word to her.

She turned away and shouldered her bag, dismayed at herself that once again she had felt it necessary to kill all feelings of goodwill directed her way. When she looked up he was standing by door with that guarded look in his eyes again. She was a rogue; what else could he expect?

Her fierce glare did not convince him; not when he had seen the hangdog look on her face and how her shoulders had sagged before she had turned to pick up her pack. It had taken quite a bit of self control not to call her out for acting like a child. When she came closer he realized with a sense of befuddled wonder that she was smaller than he remembered. The first time he had laid eyes on her she had loomed over him, projecting an aura of swift, deadly power. Now he could see that the top of her head barely came as high as his shoulder and the dark smudges of her eyes in her pale face made her look weak and fragile.


	12. To See Clearly

The leaders of the Timbermaw Hold were waiting for them when they came out of the room. Black furred Garn One Eye, who strangely enough had both, Salfa and Meilosh, the purity of their white fur glowing in the dim light and Kernda, who dipped his huge grey furred head to Ceawlin in a sign of respect.

_A new day_, Kernda said. _How will you begin it, friend elf?_

Ceawlin bowed in return to the massive furbolg. "Thank you for your hospitality, Great One," he said. "My last wish to you this day is that you allow the human to leave unharmed once I've gotten enough of a head start." He turned to her, saying, "Thank you for your help, May. Perhaps another day we will meet under better circumstances."

She met his regard with a flat stare, then one of her eyelids began to droop and she suddenly flung her pack at him. The impact threw him off center and he scrambled to right himself but she had already disappeared into the shadows.

"May, don't be stupid," he shouted above the furbolgs' howls. "May! Dammit, May, don't do this!"

The furbolgs milled about in the alcove, the air vibrating with their roars as they searched in vain for the rogue. Ceawlin spun around to where the door to the little room stood open. It would have been very easy for her to slip back into it and then wait for the ruckus to die down to make her escape. He took the remaining torch down and strode through the room with it above his head until he was satisfied she had gone.

When he returned to the alcove the furbolgs had moved down the two paths out of it, sweeping their paws as they went to catch her. One of the bearmen looked back and padded towards him, bobbing its head in deep nods as it came. Just as it crossed the center of the room, he heard the telltale sound of the rogue stepping out of the shadows. Then she was a blur moving past him as she launched herself at the furbolg, knocking it down to the ground.

She looked up at him over its body, both of her hands wrapped around the dagger in its chest. Before he could find his voice to yell at her, the other furbolgs had renewed their bellowing and ran towards them. She turned to look at the mass of furred bodies barreling towards her and then slid the weapon down the dead creature's chest, effectively gutting it.

More of the furbolgs had come from behind and pushed him aside in their rush to grab her. As they lifted her up, her grip on the body stretched its strangely loose skin. He looked on with horror that she would desecrate the body in such a fashion but instead of the splash of entrails he expected, part of a leather clad body emerged from the hole.

"Stop!" he bellowed, putting so much force into his shout that his throat burned. He stooped and pulled at the opening until the skin came completely free, revealing the body of a blood elf rogue.

May twisted free of her captor and dropped down beside him to stare at the dead man's face.

"You couldn't have known he was here," Ceawlin said but she didn't answer or meet his gaze. He looked down again at the corpse, wondering what she found so interesting. "Friend of yours?"

"You fool," she whispered and pulled out another knife. She spat on the blade and wiped the metal clean of a purple film before placing it edgewise against the dead rogue's face. "Look at him!" she commanded. "Look into blade so your eyes are on the same level as his."

After scrutinizing her face for signs of insanity, he studied his reflection in the knife and compared it to the dead elf's. He saw nothing remarkable. "What am I supposed to be seeing?"

"His eyes are a darker green than yours!" she hissed. "In fact, yours have a blue tint."

He looked again and then turned to her, shaking his head. "I don't see it. There are variations among us, true, but …"

"No! Don't you _see_," she said, looking up at him. "You're different. You've done something to counter your fel addiction. This is something important!"

"What is it?" he said in mock horror. "What could it be?"

She frowned, plainly annoyed with him. "I wouldn't know, exactly," she finally said, her eyes narrowed with angry frustration. "You're the one cursed with a weakness for magic, not me."


	13. One Step Ahead

Salfa picked up the skin, then raising his snout towards the ceiling began to howl. After a moment the other furbolgs added their voices to the lament. He then folded it carefully before giving it to Garn One Eye.

_That one has been missing for a long time. Death took him not long ago however_, he said, the fur on his shoulders standing on end. _We have never seen this foul treatment before today._

"There it is, then," May said. "They mean to get you and don't give a damn how they do it." She reached out and laid her hand on his arm as she looked up at him with gentle, pleading eyes.

Her concern was touching, but he knew better. "I don't trust either side," he said, and at that she dropped her hand and settled back to sit cross-legged on the ground. He was trapped and he was out of ideas.

_Moonglade_, Salfa said. _I will speak for you to the druids. Quickly now!_

"What can they do for me," Ceawlin said as several furbolgs ran to do the Elder's bidding. "They won't do anything to endanger their neutral status."

_What is the harm to ask, friend elf,_ Salfa said. _I feel the wind of the unexpected._

Within moments Ruddy was brought to them and Ceawlin slung both his and May's gear on the horse, then took the horse's reins from the bearman who had held them out of the rogue's reach. Salfa fairly danced with frustration at their slowness. At Ceawlin's nod the elder turned and set out at a pace he found hard to keep up with burdened as he was in his full kit. Behind them followed the entire Hold's inhabitants.

_Ride for their town, Nighthaven_, Salfa said as he ran easily without gasping. _The beasts of the Glade will herald our coming._

As soon as they were outside the Hold's exit, Ceawlin vaulted into the saddle but when he reached down to pull the rogue up behind him, she waved him off until she had tied on her mask. At least she didn't waste time arguing over his control of her horse and once she was in the saddle he kicked the animal into a run as the furbolgs spread out and followed them.

At first the shadowy forest of Moonglade seemed almost pitch black compared to the torch lit tunnels of Timbermaw Hold. The pale trunks of the gigantic trees suddenly loomed before them while small creatures darted from under the horse's hooves. Once again Ceawlin was abruptly reminded that here the druids' magic held sway, keeping the forest in twilight under a high, full moon.

All too soon the first buildings of the town hove into view and he saw two guards running towards them but May leaned forward to yell into his ear not to stop. The boom and clatter of the horse's shod hooves on the wooden floor of the first building echoed as rolls of thunder as the poor beast struggled to keep its balance on the smooth surface. Behind them the guards ran shouting while others screamed and yelled as they ran for cover. May pulled on his arm, steering him out of that building and across a bridge to another.

He saw a flash of vicious teeth and claws as something barreled into the horse, knocking him and May out of the saddle to smash against a wall. When he opened his eyes, though, it was a human male who held him down with a strength he could not rise against.

"No, no! Stop!" May shouted from beside him, her hands stretched palms outward to the stranger. "Don't hurt him!"

"You wear his stench, girl," the human growled. "Does he own you?"

"No," she said with a touch of indignation. "Please help us!"

The human stared at her for a long moment before effortlessly pulling Ceawlin to his feet. "Who are you and what do you want," he demanded.

"Perhaps we should all introduce ourselves," said a deep voice from behind them.

Ceawlin turned and made a sweeping bow to the tall night elf standing completely at ease among the crowd of night elf and tauren guards who stood with weapons at the ready. "Blood Knight Ceawlin Farinmail at your service, sir, and may I present Miss Maybe, the rogue. Salfa the Elder sent us and he should soon be here to speak with you on our behalf."

The night elf returned his bow. "I am Rabine Saturna and I am in charge of Nighthaven. The gentleman who was so kind as to help you down from your horse is known as Umber."


	14. Disguises for Everyone

Ceawlin turned and made a short bow to the brown haired human, then quickly looked away so not to betray how the strange man unsettled him. He found it greatly disturbing that although Umber was a head shorter, the human had easily restrained him. And then to add insult to injury, he had been pulled up off the floor as if he were a child even though he was in full battle gear. Saturna had said Umber had 'helped' them off the horse. Had the human set an animal on them at first and if so, where was it now?

"Miss Maybe, the rogue," Saturna repeated as he turned to May, an arched eyebrow echoing the mistrust in his voice. "Is 'Maybe' your name or are you not sure if you're a rogue or not?"

"We come seeking aid, Master Saturna," she said firmly, her commanding presence returning to edge her words in cold iron. "We are not belligerents intending to compromise your neutrality. All we ask is that you give us leave to use your hippogryphs to fly down to Auberdine."

Saturna started to answer then paused and cocked his head to listen to something else. A moment later and Ceawlin heard it too – the Timbermaws had finally arrived. One of the guards, a bulky male tauren, towered over Saturna as he leaned in closer for a short exchange with the druid before directing the other guards to take positions around Ceawlin and May. With a start of surprise Ceawlin realized Umber had managed to slip away without being seen.

Salfa slowly walked up to the Master of Nighthaven with his head held low, but the furbolgs who had followed the elder stopped at the foot of the ramp into the building.

_Master, I beg your help_, Salfa began after first dipping his head to the night elf_._ He did not raise his eyes to meet Saturna's. _For the good of all, the blood elf must escape._

"How have you managed to captivate them, sin'dorei?" Saturna said, turning to study Ceawlin's face. Whatever he saw there made him frown before he shifted his attention back to Salfa. "I will take your words to heart, Honored One."

_The wisdom of the druids is legendary_, Salfa said as he backed away, still without looking up. He continued his odd shuffle until he was among the other furbolgs and then crouched at the end of the ramp with his nose in his paws. The others crowded about him, licking his ears and gently rubbing their faces on his fur as if to comfort him.

"My front porch is not the place for this discussion," Saturna said, turning about. He spoke quietly to the big tauren guard again, who then directed his fellows to usher the trade folk and the innkeepers out of the building. "Upstairs, please, Sir Blood Knight and Miss Rogue," Saturna said and led the way up the stairs.

Ceawlin set his hand at the small of May's back and gently nudged her forward. She glanced up at him, favoring him with the flash of a wary eye before following Saturna. No doubt she knew he'd rather have her where he could keep an eye on her but all things considered he didn't give a damn if she resented it or not.

"We can speak more freely here," Saturna said as he pointed to the far corner of the room. "Where is your charger, Blood Knight," he said softly, as his dark eyes fastened on Ceawlin's. Such was the strength in the druid's nature that when he turned away, Ceawlin felt as if he had been released from a powerful grip he had not been aware of at first. Without waiting for an answer, the master of Nighthaven instead turned to May. "Where are you taking him?"

Startled, she held out her hands and shook her head. "We really haven't had a lot time to think about that," she blurted. She looked up at Ceawlin, her eyes crinkling in amusement above her mask. "Where do you want to go?"

"My suggestion would be Northrend," Saturna said before Ceawlin could answer. "And I would not look as others would expect me to appear." At that cryptic announcement he left them and went back down the stairs.

Completely at a loss, Ceawlin watched him leave and then turned to May. "What the hell?"

"'…not as others would expect …'" she repeated softly as she studied his chest. "He's talking about a disguise. You already have a full beard, which I assume is rare among blood elves, and they expect you to be wearing armor so you must wear cloth instead." She glanced upwards, above his head. "A mage's robe would be ideal. The cowl would cover your ears."

The excited look on her face scared the hell of him. "Just as long as you don't pin them back," he said. "I will not have that; not at all."


	15. The Dream Explained

Saturna came back up the stairs, his arms full of folded cloth and a heavy bag hanging from one hand. Behind him followed Umber laden with similar stuff. "I'm afraid you will have to wear something to restrain them." He held out a small cap to Ceawlin. "Undo your topknot and put all your hair up in it as well. That might help cushion your ears." He turned to May, saying, "Please follow Umber, Miss Rogue. He has your disguise."

May looked from Saturna's face to Ceawlin's but if she was unsettled by being separated from him, what little he could see of her face above the mask did not betray her. She followed the human back down the stairs without a word or one backward glance.

The rogue's footsteps had faded even to Ceawlin's ears before the master of Nighthaven turned back to him. "Here in the Dream we are sometimes aware of other sleepers," Saturna said. "Especially when they are near and their dreams are strong – such as yours was, Sir Knight. I apologize that I did not recognize you when you first arrived."

Startled, Ceawlin's hair fell from his suddenly nerveless hands and he looked up to meet the druid's dark eyes.

"There is one thing I will say to that and I hope you find comfort in my words and in what I know to be true," the druid continued. "Stratholme is cursed to be forever haunted by that fateful day the prince of the land murdered his people. The Alonsus Chapel is a holy place there but that does not mean it doesn't have its own ghosts. You did not kill an innocent man, Sir Knight." Saturna put his burden down on the end of the bed. "We don't have much time. Please continue changing.

"Your dream suggests something prevented the ritual to bind you and your charger from completing," he went on when Ceawlin began taking off his armor and laying it out across the bed. "What happened there also echoes how yours is a people caught between the darkness and the light, just as you were in the chapel.

"Illidan taught you blood elves how to siphon the mana from Outland demons to feed your cravings for magic; I can feel the fel power struggling to escape your control. There also is the glory of the Light that was ..." He held out his hands to forestall Ceawlin's protest. "Yes, M'uru knew from the beginning what his part was to be in your people's struggle. It doesn't matter how he went to Silvermoon City. The important part was that as a Naaru guardian his power was freely given to each of you. You do not steal what is freely given."

Saturna picked up Ceawlin's sword from the end of the bed and turned it over in his hands, inspecting it from every angle. "You can wear this," he said as he held it out to Ceawlin. "It looks just like what a solder would pass down to his spell casting son – worn but still serviceable and certainly not worth much beyond the metal it's made of."

Ceawlin took it from him, looking up into his face to see if he was joking, but the night elf was as solemn as a funeral.

"Then somewhere along your way doubts began to grow in your heart about your order's tenets" Saturna said. "It is possible that could also explain why the fel magic's hold on your soul has been weakened. That might have been enough to prevent the demon from fully bonding with you. The two of you are connected but it is not a particularly strong hold on either of you.

"One last thing, Sir Knight," Saturna said and he waited until Ceawlin looked up into his face before continuing. "A mortal poet once tried to put into words what he found here in Nighthaven. The gist of the poem is that Time has within itself the entirety of Past and Future. All that it contains within itself is unchangeable and cannot be redeemed. When you know this, let go, and you will be free of your pain, your doubts and your fears."

Ceawlin shrugged into the cloth overcoat, taking the opportunity to turn away from the druid's serene eyes that he knew missed little. The memory of the young innocents he had killed at Quel'Lithien Lodge came to mind and he wondered if he really wanted to be free of the lesson learned there: that the truth had more layers than a mortal could ever comprehend. If not for the markers, even those made from another's blood, how else would one remember or learn? He shook his head, not satisfied with that assessment either.

The warmth of the druid's hand on his shoulder brought him about. "The rogue is ready, Sir Knight, and I will leave the task of tending to your hair to her." Saturna picked up the cloth bag and took out a book. "There are texts in this bag that will add credence to your disguises as students on their way to Dalaran," he said as he returned the worn tome to the knapsack. "These are copies that Umber doesn't mind losing, so don't worry if you're unable to return them."

"Did I hear correctly," May said as she ran up the stairs towards them without the mysterious Umber trailing behind. "We're to go to Dalaran?" The mask was now gone, as well as the hat, and Ceawlin thought the change was all for the best. The green robe she wore accentuated her coloring, bringing out the red highlights in her hair and making her fair skin glow.

"The greatest minds are gathered there," Saturna said. "They will be of more help to him than I can be." He took a comb and some strips of cloth from a small table and taking her by the wrist, thrust them into her hand. "Help him with hiding his ears and eyebrows and make haste; the hippogryphs are ready to take you down to Auberdine."

May stood gaping after the druid as he went down the stairs until Ceawlin reached out and bumped her arm. "What's the matter?"

"I've never been to Dalaran," she said. "I've heard it's a wondrous place, full of magic, and the greatest heroes ever walk the streets."

"Then we should move along then, shouldn't we," he reminded her. She smiled up at him, her face glowing with a childlike glee but then she blushed and looked away.


	16. Payment Deferred

"How old are you," he said as she fumbled with the cloth strips. For some reason the damn stuff was resisting her attempts to straighten and fold it so she tossed it on the end of the bed in disgust.

She shrugged. "Eighteen, maybe. Maybe twenty-two or three." She looked up at him to meet his carefully schooled expression but she knew it was a cover for the amusement he no doubt found in her reaction to the question. "Anyway, old enough to do as I please." She pulled out a footrest from under a table with one foot and pushed it towards him. "Sit."

He bowed to her before doing as commanded and she took up position behind him. It was wonderful to feel the cool silk of his hair in her hands again and in that instant she forgave him for being so cruel. She watched with delight at how it shimmered as she worked the comb through the pale strands that fell half way down his back. She began to coil it at the nape of his neck and then went upwards with it until the remainder was wrapped atop his head.

Moving to the end of the bed she picked up one of the thinner strips of cloth and stood in front of him. "Hold your eyebrows down and I'll tie them into place. I'll try to be as gentle as possible," she said at his angry stare. When he had followed her directions, she looped the cloth behind his neck to lay it over the flexible extensions and then tied it into a loose, flat knot at the top of his head.

"This is the hard part," she said as she took up a length of the wider strips. "Push your ears down as far as you can stand it."

Again she looped the cloth around the back of his neck and then crossed it over his ears in front of where his hands held them down. His ears were not as long as a night elf's and looked to be more flexible but they did stand at a slightly higher angle than those of his distant cousins'. As much as he was holding them down, they were still too tall to fit in the cap Saturna had given him.

For a moment she wondered whether or not it would be a good idea to warn him then she tightened the strips and knotted them.

She gasped and stiffened as both of his hands went around her waist and squeezed with such punishing force she found it impossible to breathe. Ye gods but he was quick was her first thought and then she realized he was strong enough to crush her spine in his bare hands. His eyes meeting hers blazed with the fel magic's malevolent glow.

"Lemmego," she whispered. She didn't have breath enough for anything else.

His hands loosened and as she watched, the fel glow in his eyes slowly lost its brightness until it was the much lighter shade she remembered.

She was finally able to draw a full breath but she had to put both hands on his shoulders for support until her dizziness passed. "Sorry," she whispered. He could take the apology or not; she didn't care. It was more than enough that she'd made the offer.

"Next time give me fair warning," he growled. "Now finish it."

"Grab me like that again and I will," she said, making it a promise. The cap was lying on the other side of the bed and she slowly walked towards it, cautiously flexing at the waist to alleviate the pain. He had probably left marks, damn him, she thought, but she did take extra care to ease the cap over his head as gently as possible. She pulled the cowl of his overcoat up and over the cap, and then forward enough until it shadowed his eyes.

She put her fingers under his chin and applied a bit of pressure until he raised his eyes to meet hers. In the darkness cast by the cowl his eyes glowed with green fel energy. "You can't look up," she said. "Best bet is to say you're seasick."


	17. At Sea

Saturna and Umber were waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs and the master of Nighthaven nodded his approval of Ceawlin's disguise. "You will find this useful," he said as he took a gnarled walking stick from Umber and held it out for the paladin to take.

"That's perfect!" she said, clasping her hands together to her chest. "It changes your stance." At Ceawlin's puzzled look she went on to explain, "When you're at ease, you stand with your chest out and with one shoulder higher than the other – a distinctive blood elf posture. With that in your hand even your attitude is changed."

She smiled in response to his quick frown, honestly tickled at his reaction. There was a bit of shared dark humor in it as well between them because she could see from the way one side of his mouth quirked that he had found it funny as well. Oh heavens, she thought as her heart gave a leap, what am I thinking of to be playing with this man, word games or any other for that matter.

Umber cleared his throat and Saturna pointed at the two backpacks at the bottom rung of the stairs. "Heavy coats, maps, food; hopefully everything you'll need on your journey," he said. "I've also written introductory letters for both of you to the high mages of Dalaran."

He held out his hand to Ceawlin. "Good luck to you, Sir Knight," he said as shook the other's hand. "May the Goddess watch over you."

To her he bowed without offering a blessing and as regal as any mage born she inclined her head in answer as if he had. Umber motioned they were to follow him and led the way out a side door of the building.

The flightpath station was near the edge of the cliff and the four hippogryphs there stepped forward to inspect Ceawlin as soon as he was close enough. After a moment or two, they huddled together, hissing and clicking their beaks at one another with several looks over their shoulders at their soon-to-be passengers. Finally two reared up on their hind legs, shaking their antlered heads, and presented themselves to be ridden.

The winged creatures were beautiful in a half wild fashion, covered in black feathers that shimmered even in the magically dim light in shades of pink, green and purple. Wings sprung from the shoulders of a broad back that ended with blue skinned horse-like hindquarters. By the way her mount regarded her with its deep-set yellow eyes, they were also intelligent and wise in body language. It stretched languidly, first flexing one of its clawed forefeet out at her and then the other before unfurling its huge black wings as if impatient with her hesitation. She made to climb on its back and then noticed it didn't have a saddle nor was there a handler.

"Are we to ride them by ourselves," she asked the night elf sentinel standing nearby.

"They know where to take you," was the soft reply. "They will take good care of you."

The hippogryph stopped pecking the ground around its feet to look up at her with its beak agape and she wondered if the beast was laughing at her. She hitched up her robe, thankful she'd had the presence of mind to wear her leather pants, and then sat on its back, mindful to not bend or twist any feathers. The sentinel had barely enough time to point at where she was to hold on, when it started running for the cliff's edge. She leaned forward, thinking this was going to be grander than any wild ride down a mountainside on Ruddy's back, as a thrill of excitement made her shiver with anticipation.

It leaped out over the edge and her heart jumped as well as the hippogryph opened its wide wings to catch the air. Her laughter burst from her in great shouts as they fell towards the earth, only to bank and glide over the treetops then back up towards the sun. The hippogryph made a wide circle and then headed out to where Auberdine crouched among the rocks and the waves with its pier a long wooden tongue out into the Great Sea.

She smiled at the Auberdine flightmaster as she got off the hippogryph but before she could turn and pet the beast it had already taken to the skies again. She looked up for Ceawlin's mount and stepped to one side as it came in to land nearby. The paladin slowly climbed off his hippogryph and walked to her, leaning on the staff and bowing a little under the weight of the pack on his back.

"You don't have to look like you need the support that badly," she said as she joined him. "You're acting like you're a hundred years old."

"My head aches," he said softly as if that too, pained him.

She matched her stride to his without another word as they went down the short ramp to the Auberdine Inn proper. After watching how his shoulders rose as they walked among the groups of people in the inn and their sometimes loud conversations, she decided to surreptitiously watch for anyone too interested in their slow progress instead of relaying the town's history to him.

They had just stepped onto the ancient planks of the pier where it attached to the back of the open air building when there were shouts and the clatter of shod hooves on wood coming from behind them. May shoved Ceawlin to one side as several men on horseback ran through the inn, nearly trampling everyone in their path. Thankfully no one was hurt and after several curses were shouted at the fleeing riders, everyone went back to what they had been doing before they had been so rudely interrupted.

"Damn night elves and their open architecture," she grumbled and turned to Ceawlin. The paladin sat where he had fallen, holding his head with both hands. She picked up his staff and pulled him to his feet, where he stood without moving or bothering to pick up his pack or bag. If he was putting on a show of being seasick, he was right good at it, she decided as she slung his bags over her shoulder. She took his elbow like she would an old man's and gently pulled him into motion.

There was a long line waiting to board the boat to Stormwind and she carefully maneuvered Ceawlin to the end. Someone was talking to each of the would-be passengers in turn and with a shock she realized he was a high elf.

"Damn, I forgot the first mate is a quel'dorei," she whispered as she leaned closer to the ailing paladin. "Will he be able to tell...?"

"My dear girl, we aren't able to smell each other out," he whispered back. "Don't be silly."

"Fine, then," she hissed. "Just act naturally – here he comes."

"Gentles," the Bravery First Mate said as he came level with them. He frowned at Ceawlin. "What ails him?"

"Just too much of the sea for him, sir," she said, patting the paladin on the shoulder.

As if on cue, Ceawlin leaned to one side and with a moan of distress, spewed the contents of his stomach at the first mate's feet.


	18. Hidden in Plain Sight

With both hands clapped over her mouth and eyes wide with shock, she looked from the pool of vomit all the way up the high elf's stained boots to his face. Now there was one disgusted and angry man, she thought as she strove to keep from laughing. Ceawlin wobbled at her side and she carefully put her arm around his shoulders and pulled him close to hide her face.

"I apologize for my brother," she said breathlessly as she daubed at Ceawlin's face with the edge of one of his sleeves. "He was so excited to be accepted by The School of Higher Learning in Dalaran; maybe a bit too excited, and then he was worried because the only way there is by boat and he gets just so sick and I guess he maybe took too much of the seasick potion because it looks like it upset his stomach, what with him being so excited over being accepted by the School. You know it's so prodigious being accepted there…"

"No need to worry, miss, it's not like this is the first time," the first mate said as he stepped away from the spreading mess.

"Oh thank you, you're so kind!" she said, looking up at the ship's officer with her most agreeable smile to meet a glare that was anything but. "Would it be possible for us to have our own cabin?" she went on after a slight hesitation. "I just know he's going to be sick again and I'm sure your passengers wouldn't like to see or hear him being so horribly sick, and Light forbid, if he was to splash somebody and then you'd have angry people wanting their money back for being so distressed and all and…"

"I'll see what I can do," the first mate said, his eyes darting over their clothing and luggage, taking in the rich colors of their runecloth robes and the style of their old but well crafted equipment. "I'm certain something can be worked out to suit everyone." He straightened to his full height and checked the papers on the board he carried. "If you would follow me, please," he said and set off for the boat without a backward glance.

She picked up the staff off the pier, thankful it had not ended up in the mess, and squeezed Ceawlin's hand around it. "Just a little further," she coaxed. "And then you can lie down."

It was a long, sad trip down the pier as she gently pulled the stumbling blood elf along to the boat, ahead of all those who had already been waiting. She could imagine the frowns on all their faces and the snide remarks they were making about them. Ceawlin locked his eyes on the distant horizon, his head high but only enough so that his beard was exposed. The tendons stood out on his hand that gripped the staff while the other rested loosely in hers.

When they finally got to the boat the First Mate deigned to help Ceawlin across the ramp, then he jumped again to the front to lead the way through a doorway and down a short flight of stairs. He made a quick trip across the room then waited for them at another turn that put them in front of a cubbyhole under the steps they had just come down. Two hammocks hung from one wall in the tiny room and barely two steps away was a shelf with a much abused basin on the other. At least its door did have a lock.

She arranged a look of aggrieved appreciation on her face when she turned to the first mate. The scenario called for her to play the part of the youngest daughter of a well-to-do family: familiar with the short end of the stick but willing to make do nevertheless.

"A gold for each of you," the officer said firmly, holding out his hand.

"Oh, heavens," she breathed. "These accommodations are more than I expected – even more than I could hope for but we don't have that much money!" She brought her sleeve to her eyes as if wiping away tears. "Come, brother dear, perhaps the nice man can find us a corner out of the way where no one will hear you being sick," she said as she made to steer Ceawlin into the next room.

"Final offer – one gold for both," the officer said with a definite chill in his voice.

Ah, here's one familiar with the money dance, she thought and turned her back on him to wiggle a coin free from a breast pocket. She handed it to him with a gracious smile. While he was polite enough to not test it in front of her, he kept it in his palm. No doubt he would do that as soon as he turned the corner. How the mighty have fallen.

"There's a barrel of water for washing in the common room next door," the first mate said as he made notes on his papers. "The slop closet is down the stairs at the end. If you need cloths for cleaning up after him, just ask one of the sailors walking through down here – do not bother any on deck." He made a final notation before nodding to her without meeting her eyes, then turned on his heel and left.

While the high elf had been talking, Ceawlin had gone into the room. She closed the door behind her and put her ear to the door to listen for a moment. When she turned around, she found him leaning over the basin. The hammocks were the whole cloth ones, thank the Light, and she took them down and laid them out on the floor. She picked up the basin and nudged the blood elf towards the makeshift pallet, then put the washbowl near him. Taking off her coat, she hung it safely out of the way on one of the hammock pegs then unbuttoned the front of her blouse, revealing an expanse of thin hide covered with pockets.

"I couldn't bring everything, but I do have something that will help," she said as she looked into several of the pockets then laid her selection on the shelf. After a moment's thought she decided to take her supply cache off as well and laid it on the floor.

"This is going to hurt," she warned as she pushed back his hood then helped him take off his coat. "You'd better sit down."

The eyes that met hers as he lowered himself to the pallet were dull with pain and she looked away to put the basin in his lap. She took a deep breath, then pulled the cap off his head. There was a snap as the rim of the basin broke in his hands. Tossing the cap aside, she bent to untie the knot holding his ears down and she saw she had done too good of a job there. The flesh under the cloth was an angry, purple-red color while the tips of his ears were almost white. On damn, she thought, what if I've killed them?

"Suck it up, pretty man," she warned and then dug into the knot, steeling herself to get it off as quickly as possible. If he yelled or struggled, that was going to be just too bad.


	19. The Face Off

She slid the tip of her blade under one part of the knot, careful not to cut the cloth, and tried to pry the strips apart. In her mind's eye were all the extra bindings she had left lying on the end of that bed in Nighthaven. Just plain stupid of her to forget to take them, she thought. She should have known better.

"Just rip the damn thing off," he hissed.

"No, it will smash your ears even more," she said, her voice low, thinking that the walls of their cabin were probably paper thin and riddled with holes.

"At least it will be over quickly," he said between grunts. "This picking and pulling is about to drive me mad!"

"All right, hold on a bit," she said as she inspected the cloth strip. "Your hair is tangled around it – almost completely around your head. I'll have to cut it loose first."

He cringed as the cold blade touched his neck but the sharp knife made short work of cutting through his hair. Then without warning she pulled on the strip at the base of his head and jerked it free. He tried to stand up but only managed to knock them both to the floor. He rolled onto his stomach, his hands over the sides of his head without touching his ears. She got to her feet and grabbed the salve off the basin shelf that she'd gotten out of her cache earlier.

"Sit up, sit up!" she whispered fiercely as she smeared the ointment on a bit of cloth. "Let me put this stuff on them."

Once he was sitting upright she gently daubed the red areas with the numbing salve, giving it a moment do its work before she spread it further. It wasn't until he sighed and she felt his warm breath down the front of her blouse that she was aware that in reaching for his ears, she had pushed his face into her chest.

She sat back on her heels and picked up a rag to wipe her hands, examining each finger to make sure none of the salve had gotten on her skin. "Better now?" she said without looking up; she knew if she did she was going to burst out laughing.

"I find it hard to believe your concern is real," he said after a moment, pointedly ignoring her answering sharp, angry glance. He rolled his head from side to side and then carefully flexed his shoulders, one after the other. "Ye gods but there isn't one part of me that doesn't ache."

She held out both hands palms upwards out to him. "Will you let me try something? Just one little thing," she said, facing down his bitter stare.

When he didn't move away or say anything, she hitched closer to him again and slowly raised her hands to his face as if he was some wild thing she had to tame. "All you have to do is relax your tongue. Let your jaw go slack and just concentrate on keeping your tongue relaxed."

Spreading her fingers out along the arch of each of his eyebrows, she pressed for a count of ten. She then did the same on his forehead, just beyond where his hair began, and along his jaw. His breathing slowed, then he closed his eyes and she smiled, thinking she had indeed tamed this wild elf. Done with the pressure therapy all over his face, she began to lightly massage the high bridge of his nose, then across his cheekbones and down the edges of his jaw to his neck.

She needed to be behind him if she was to work his shoulders properly but when she started to stand up he reached out and pulled her to him in a loose embrace. Startled into immobility, she didn't struggle to free herself as his hands kneaded the muscles along her spine. She inhaled sharply as his hands soothed muscles she didn't know until that instant were in need of their own restorative treatment.

At her sigh his arms briefly tightened around her but after a moment his hands resumed their slow, tender exploration of her back and then came to a rest on her hips. She leaned into him, demand in every inch of her body as his hands brushed the sides of her breasts, down the outside of her thighs – everywhere except where she wanted them. Desire and anger in equal parts swept over her as her body shook in frustration. She wanted to bite him, to hit him, her hunger so fierce it was a pain she wanted him to feel too.

"So this is how you ask – by seduction," she snarled hoarsely.

He jerked away from her and she snatched handfuls of his shirt, the words to beg him not to leave on her tongue but held behind clenched teeth. She could have sworn his eyes were almost blue.

"What is it, May," he said softly, as calm and as still as any stone.

She ducked her head, dismayed that she had left herself open to scrutiny in that unguarded moment. She was certain that in the next breath she was going to shame herself and cry. A warm, gentle hand covered hers as he pulled her forward and she realized he was moving her so he could sit on the floor. Oh, his poor knees, she thought, as her own began complaining of her abuse of them and she released her grip on his shirt so she could do the same.

He gathered her into his arms and began to stroke her hair when she didn't raise her head. With calm detachment she watched as he smoothed the ends of one strand of her hair around his finger to which the curls gladly clung. She leaned against his chest with a sigh, taking in the slow beat of his heart, the warmth of his body through the cloth and the musky wood smell of his sweat.

Suddenly it was important that she sit upright and at first she fought the impulse to do so. Then again, her instincts had never led her astray and there had been enough times she had learned to trust them. She raised her head and leaned back as she faced him, thinking she had to say something, anything; dammit, it was important that she say something.

"Sorry," she whispered, her voice strangely full of rust and breaking. "I …"

"Yes, we do need to get our sleep," he said, his smile good-natured and kind. He stood up and straightened out the pallet, then folded his coat into a pillow and lay down.

In an odd kind of bewilderment she watched as he soon drifted off to sleep. For a long time she sat there, trying to grasp why her intuition had told her it was important not to have sex right then. Was it a status thing? Maybe it was a gambit she should play to make him want her more. If so, had she won this round? Where was the profit? What was the payoff and who had won?


	20. The Maelstrom

In the days that followed she luxuriated in a feeling of power that strangely enough had nothing to do with her last set-to with the blood elf. For the first time in a long while she went about her business with quiet, unshakeable confidence as she played the part of a devoted sister caring for her sickly brother. She practiced her sleight of hand skills by stealing extra food; some to be smashed in the basin with water to look the part of what a horribly seasick person would produce on occasion and some to color a cloth or two to show how hard she toiled in her loving care of said brother. It was a wonderfully skillful performance she couldn't help thinking, complete with dances and many costumes.

As far as the blood elf was concerned it would seem she was his sister in fact. He never touched her unless it was absolutely necessary and never in any manner that could be taken as amorous. Each night they slept side by side on the pallet, now softened by the extra cloth she had skillfully stolen, and woke up each morning the same distance from each other. He seemed to be perfectly fine with the present status of their relationship and gave no evidence he felt disappointed in the direction it had taken.

All in all it was a thoroughly enjoyable voyage despite the nearly constant sound of footsteps on the stairs over them and she would be sad when it ended. Soon the ship would be coming upon the Maelstrom and thanks to its strong currents they would be in Stormwind Harbor within a day or two afterwards. She thought it amusing how ships could go from one side of the world to the other in the blink of an eye as it were because of the massive vortex when it took almost a year to go from one end of a continent to the other by horseback.

One day there was a knock at the door and without hesitation Ceawlin lay down on the pallet and draped a cloth over his eyes and ears. She reached for the door but before she could open it, someone called out a warning of rough waters ahead. The ship had finally come within reach of the out flung arms of the Maelstrom.

They tucked in that night to the creaks and groans of a ship laboring through the high waves while the sails' struggle to hold fast sang through the ropes, making the wood around them thrum. The vibrations kept her awake and restless and seeing him slip easily into sleep didn't help either. Finally after many hours of tossing and turning on bedding suddenly too hard and lumpy she finally drifted off, her last conscious thought to remember to steal more cloth.

The world shook again, waking her, and she scrabbled at the dirt floor of her tiny hiding place, desperate to escape the ugly men with huge teeth. There had been a big noise in the night and then da and mam were yelling for her and baby sister to run. She had opened the door to the main room to see her parents fighting the green-skinned ugly men. She had run so hard! Baby sister had run hard too. The bad men had scared her so much she had wet herself and now her bare legs itched and the scratches and cuts all up and down them stung. Where was da now? Where was mam? She bit her filthy knuckles to keep from crying out loud, her small body shaking from the hurt that was about to break her in two. Why was nobody coming to save them?

There was a soft murmur in her ear and warm arms around her holding her close and she knew da had found them at last. They were safe. She turned and fiercely hugged him, so grateful they wouldn't have to go that cold, ugly orphanage after all. Tears ran down her face as she sobbed, grieving for the little girls who had lived that horrible life. She felt the nightmare slip by without catching and holding her as she rested in her father's arms until sleep took her once more.

Another lurch woke her and she opened her eyes to darkness. Aside from the ship's complaints there were few noises; it was probably still a few hours to daylight. She turned over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, not feeling particularly sleepy but not ready to get up either.

She hadn't thought about The Bad Time for years. A long time ago she and Tiergan had decided not to think about it. It had been a very painful time in their lives and it was better that they put it behind them and move on. She covered her face with her hands and forced away the tears. That had been only the beginning of so much needless sorrow.

All the children had been put in the Stormwind orphanage for safety until their parents claimed them. No one had come for her and Tiergan. So few of the adults had survived that the building had nearly been bursting at the seams with all the orphans. Maybe it had been the matron who had told them to never speak of that night. Even the strongest of souls could grow tired of crying children.

The blood elf muttered in his sleep and she instinctively reached out and laid her hand on his back. Almost every night she had done that for her sister, a gentle, soothing caress across her shoulders until she went back to sleep. She had always been Tiergan's guardian. Big sisters have to take care of the littles. As he settled back to sleep and began to snore, she realized that as her sister's protector, none the less Tiergan had kept her grounded. Now she was alone. There was no one to protect anymore and no one to be her anchor. She huddled against the elf, grateful for his warmth and the rise and fall of his breath counting out the night as the beleaguered ship grumbled in distress. Her fingers found his hair and its cool silkiness reminded her of her sister's – the same color and feel –

It had been late summer and the sunlight had made Tiergan's baby fine hair shimmer as the strands drifted in the breeze as if teased by fairies. Her sister had looked up from the smashed wad of flowers in her tiny fist and had smiled so widely at her she could see Tiergan had but four teeth: tiny white pearls set in pink gums. With that image sleep took her again, whispering of how once upon a time Love and Security had stood arm in arm in Safety's doorway, calling out encouragement as two little girls laughed and chased tiny motes of green fire darting about on the wing in the soft, warm twilight.


	21. In the Thick

He woke with his face against the back wall, pinned there by a source of heat nearly hot enough to burn him to ash. And by the Light she snored worse than a drunk. Using the wall as leverage, he wriggled and pushed against her inert body until he had enough room to sit up. He rolled her onto her back and she slumped over like a bag of wet rags. The rough treatment didn't wake her nor did she stop snoring. He stood and picked through her pile of cloths under the basin for one clean enough for his purpose. Once his hunt was rewarded, he dampened a corner with their drinking water and then knelt at her side to wash her face.

She turned away from the cold, wet cloth but he continued with the simple bath as her arms weakly twitched as if she wasn't in control of them. Finally she opened her eyes but the orbs blindly rolled in their sockets for a bit before she closed them again.

"May," he called softly. "May, wake up." He patted the side of her face until her eyes opened again and found his. It was several moments before he could tell that she was actually seeing him. "Can you sit up?"

"Can I have something to drink," she croaked. "My throat is dry and sore."

"You have to sit up first," he reminded her. She frowned with the effort of thinking about it. Finally she reached for his shoulders and grabbed fistfuls of fabric to pull herself upright. She leaned against him, panting from the exertion.

"Oh, my head," she whispered. "My mind feels like it's full of pudding – bad, flavorless pudding that's been left out overnight." She raised her head, her face nearly nose to nose with his. "Do you have any idea how dis – disgusting that is?"

He staunchly controlled his reaction to the wave of odor that had been puffed in his face. "Yes, actually, I do," he said. "Are you able to sit up by yourself?"

Again she had to stop and think about his question and he found the dance of emotions that crossed her face intriguing. "Yes," she said, nodding. "Sure."

He moved away but not so far that he couldn't reach over to right her if she were to fall over again. She sat without looking at anything in particular although a slight frown would flit across her otherwise slack face.

"How are you feeling, May," he prompted after waiting for a bit. "Do you need to use the necessary?"

She glared at him with one eyebrow cocked and then just as quickly covered her mouth to suppress a giggle. "Yes, I do," she said getting to her feet. If he had not jumped up as well and put out a hand to steady her, she would have fallen. "I'm fine, now," she said indignantly as she brushed off his hand.

When she stopped at the door and looked at the wooden obstacle in dismay, he held out her cloak for her to take. "I would suggest you walk around for a bit and get your blood working," he said. "That would give me enough time to do 'my business' as you call it."

She took the cloak with a smile and then something in the situation must have amused her even more because she looked away as she put it on, her lips inverted over her teeth. Not one to waste the moment however, she stopped in the open door and winked at him before shutting it behind her.

He leaned against the door, mortified that he had to shit and piss in a basin for someone else to empty. Every day that feeling of shame, of disgust, tried his temper and eroded his self control. There was a smell stuck in his nose; no doubt it was his own stench. His scalp itched and he scratched at it, revolted at the amount of grease that coated his fingers. He looked about the tiny room and felt a tremble start in his legs and race up his spine. "Patience," he whispered. "You are not a wild beast." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but his attempt to calm himself nearly destroyed what little control he had left. Ye gods, but he stank.

He opened his eyes and saw how his hands gripped the door facing, the knuckles sharply protruding in sickly pale skin. Perhaps he should follow his own advice and do what exercises he could in the small space to get his blood to working.

* * *

She took her time coming back. Finally there was her knock at the door and then she peeked around it at him before picking up the covered basin he'd left by the door and leaving again. When she returned she had a large pitcher in her hands which she put on the floor of their room before ducking back out and reentering with the cleaned basin.

"I truly miss my folding bowls," she said, "but I think we can work this around so you can bathe." She pushed him towards one side of the room and then pulled the pallet up off the floor. "Here – hang this on that hook," she said, nodding towards the wall behind him, and then she pulled the other end of the hammock to the other wall where she secured the suspension rope with a well placed knife.

Ceawlin found himself hemmed in by an expanse of cloth draped chest high down to his knees. He looked from one end of the hammock to the other in amazement then turned to her and smiled. Before he could thank her she was holding out the pitcher to him. "Careful," she warned. "It's hot."

He set the pitcher on the small shelf, surprised at the wave of emotion of that nearly had him grinning like a child. By the simplest things are we blessed, he thought as he took a handful of clean pieces of cloth from her. "Thank you," he said as he began taking off his clothing. "I think you've just saved my sanity."

She smiled back at him and there was a definite wicked gleam in her eye. "I know I've certainly saved mine," she said.


	22. Little Fish Big Water

The screen she had rigged cut the tiny room in half, crowding them even more, but she didn't leave. Instead, she sat on the floor with her back to the barely adequate partition and recounted the ship's news as she did every morning. He listened with half an ear as he bathed, worried that the flimsy thing was going to fall at the worst possible moment. The gods help him if he accidentally bumped it and knocked it down.

Her carefree acceptance of his nudity bordered on abuse of a familiarity he felt she had not earned. After what had happened last night she must have decided he was now a member of her family. She had cried out in her sleep; nightmares again he supposed, and groggy with sleep he had reached out to comfort her. At his touch she had turned and seized him with a hysterical strength before finally going back to sleep in his arms.

"There's a new fashion for hoods," she said, interrupting his memory of her body pressed against his. "The end of the hood, where it comes to a point, is made to stand up and curl to the front. I saw someone wearing one today and I think I can adapt yours to look the same. It will give your ears more room."

He glanced down and caught her looking up at him; he smiled back and nodded. She was very clever and resourceful and he was more than willing to compliment her for it. He had to remember though that she had lied to him from the beginning. She had said she was finished with him at their first meeting and then had chased him down just the same. He knew it had been a lie from the moment it was uttered but that didn't excuse her. And then to have had the nerve to proposition him after saving his life for the first, no, for the second time – well, that is, if she had been the one who had killed Condidan.

"Then I saw someone, a tinker probably, who wore colored lenses in front of his eyes," she said. "They were held in place with a wire frame that rested on his ears and his nose. That's the only set I've seen on this boat so I didn't dare steal them. They would have made an excellent disguise, don't you think?"

"I'll take your word for it," he said. Her delighted smile went straight to his heart and he had to look away. So adaptive and clever and ever changing, she was a bright minnow in murky water, drawing his eyes and his heart with a sense of wonder and excitement. He knew if he were to peer closer he would fall in and drown. No doubt that would make her laugh; she did have a malicious sense of humor.

Her mutability pried at the armor around his soul, testing the strength of its shield with every turn and turn about. When she had disappeared in the Timbermaw Hold he had cried out after her, worried she would be hurt. A foolish notion he realized when he remembered she had told him it had once been a playground for perfecting her skills. He could no longer deny she had won entry into the core of his being. Had he been so long without a kind face greeting his that he would trust this –

"I'm done with your hood," she announced. "Are you ready for your clean clothes?" At his affirmative answer she stood with her back to him and slung clothing he recognized as his on her shoulders for him to take. She had actually gone through his pack. At first he felt annoyed at her trespass and then he remembered that the few truly personal items he had had been left with Saturna in Nighthaven.

He forced himself to face the fact she was a murderer. She was no stranger to lies or killing in cold blood. Subterfuge came to her as easily as breathing. He owed her his life three times over but had she done that only to keep him alive for delivery to someone else? The best thing to do was to let it be, he decided. Events unfolded as they had a mind to but he would keep his sword at hand and pray that the gods be merciful.

"Have you ever been to Stormwind?" she said as he finished dressing. When he assured her he had never set foot in the city, she continued, "The boat to Northrend is a short walk up the pier from where this one will dock. It's an icebreaker – a powered ship – so the trip to the Borean Tundra will only take a couple of days. There are no private rooms. There are hammocks slung along the walls and chairs around the flue from the engine room that's on the next level down. Once we land at the Valiance Keep I'll get us some horses so we can leave pretty quick."

"I have been to that part Northrend," he said as he took down the hammock and folded it up. "If we get there early enough we might be able to get to a Tuskar village down the coast before nightfall. From there we can take one of their boats to the next village down. Did Saturna give you the maps or did he put them in my pack?"

"I think we both got copies," she said. "We can go over them later." She pointed to the floor. "Have a sit, please. I want to check your ears and see how the hood fits now."

She was careful but he still cringed when her fingers brushed the wounded places on his ears. "Oh, my," she muttered. "You came pretty damn close to having your ears bobbed."

"Thanks to you," he reminded her. The gentleness of her touch on the bruises was a strange mix of pleasure and pain. She moved her fingers to another spot and an electric current ran down his spine to his crotch and back again. He turned his started gasp into a coughing fit and prayed she didn't notice.

"Heh. Well, yeah, sorry about that," she said as she continued to delicately examine both ears. "Think you could stand me trying to … maneuver them, I guess that's the right word. Maneuver them into the hood – this time without that cap."

"Please be gentle," he begged.

She laughed and there was that malicious gleam in her eyes again. He sighed heavily, knowing he hadn't fooled her at all. At least she had stopped flinching away from him as if she were afflicted with vermin. You win some; you lose so many more, he reflected despondently.


	23. Lies and Deceptions

"Well, before we start, let me put something on your ears for the pain, just in case," she said as she knelt and went through her cache she'd laid out on the floor.

"Why didn't you put that on them the first time," he suddenly wanted to know. It certainly would have saved him from puking like a common drunk. Like a human.

"In the first place I think your ears would have been damaged beyond repair by the time the salve wore off," she said. "And for another, you wouldn't have given such a wonderful performance as a frail, sickly person."

"You did recover nicely," he had to admit as she gently dabbed his ears with an ointment laden scrap of cloth. Cold at the first touch, the salve then warmed his skin and eased a budding headache he had just become aware of. "You made me believe I actually do have a sister." He almost said something else and tried to hold it back but it escaped just the same.

"You find it easy to lie," he said.

At her slight gasp he glanced upward, suddenly contrite. Her bottom lip was caught in her teeth and the sadness on her face and in her eyes appeared to be real. Maybe.

"Yes," she said finally. "I do."

"You are very creative," he offered. "To escape detection, you have to be who you pretend to be – just as a writer or an actor must live their stories so their audience will believe them to be real. And for what it's worth, I thank you."

"For what?"

"You didn't lie to me just then."

Her answering look, at first with one eyebrow cocked in disdain, turned thoughtful before she leaned to one side to slip her supplies back into their containers. He shouldn't care about her feelings, really, he couldn't. She had warned him herself not to turn his back on her. For all that he wanted her to respond to his affection, she looked upon him as a job, a loose box to deliver. Or at best, a few moments' distraction.

"Here we are," she said as she held out the hood for him to take. A lock of her hair had caught in the corner of her mouth; he had the sudden urge to free it and caress her lips. "Hold that while I tie your eyebrows down."

Glad for the distraction, he took it from her and laid it on his knee, then leaned forward as he smoothed his eyebrows back. This element of his disguise presented no problem for him – he did the very same thing when he wore certain helms. It was the ears, that was the part he dreaded. Proper head gear allowed for the vital need to hear every sound when even the least of noises could mean the difference between life and death. For him that meant the entire length of his ears were on the outside of his helm, not bound and folded within it.

The light brush of her fingers on his skin as she wound the cloth about his head was both soothing and erotic, reminding him of the massage she had given him after taking off the first bindings. Her lovemaking had been a strange mixture of the sureness of the sexually skilled and the clumsiness of a child. Even the way she had pulled away from him at the end had pointed out how emotionally insecure and unsophisticated she truly was.

She was a child. It was one thing to know humans matured early, what with their short lives, but in his blood and bones she was a symbol of the precious. Children among his people were so few that each one was a cherished responsibility of all adults. He had to admit he was curious about her but his age compared to hers made his inquisitiveness very nearly a perversion. He had felt more than a little relief that she had balked and yet, still, he had been disappointed. Far better he should ignore her, he decided. It was either that or go mad.

He felt her hands on his ears but her salve blocked most of his sensitivity and then she took the hood off his knee and pushed it over his head. Finally done with her adjustments, she sat back on her heels and tilted her head from side to side as she scrutinized her creation. "I don't know if you can tell or not but your ears are bound together," she said at last. "Just not down to where I had them the first time. More of your beard shows and that might be a good thing."

He cautiously patted the hood's sides until he found the upper ridge of each ear through the cloth and then followed each to their end. It was true – the curve she had sewn into the headpiece allowed for the natural cant of his ears. However, it had been necessary to bind his ears together so that they were contained within the hood and wouldn't deform the shape of the covering.

"Very good," he said with smile. "How well is my face shadowed?"

She reached up and tugged at the brim until she was satisfied with the result, then her hand drifted down to his beard and she gently raked her fingers through the hair on his cheek. "You need a trim," she said and turned to her cache again. "Luckily you don't need much of one," she said as she held up a tiny pair of scissors. "Or we would be all day at this."

"What – no knife to hold at my throat?" The words were out of his mouth before he realized he'd said them.

She caught herself in the middle of hitching herself closer to him. Again that same eyebrow arched in midflight and he wondered when she had decided to let emotions show on her face. From the beginning there had been a few frowns, yes, and maybe a tight smile or two but never this expressive dance.

"Maybe later, if you're a good lad," she said, her brown eyes twinkling and her lips compressed in a half hearted attempt to tame a wide smile.

Something bloomed in his heart that sent a spark shimmering through every nerve and he smiled. "I look forward to it."


	24. Flags and Signals

She leaned forward again and tapped his knee. "Open," she said, her eyes narrowed but the stern expression was tempered by a slight smile.

He pushed himself backwards against the wall, his eyes locked with hers and his lips curled in an answer to hers. One leg he left with the knee bent up and the other he moved outwards, stretching his robe tightly over the legs of his leather breeches. He nonchalantly rested his arm atop the upright knee, letting his hand hang free. So she had commanded, so did he obey, but he deliberately arranged his body as a dare to her to take advantage.

She came after him on hands and knees, then calm as any sawbones she lifted his hand and pulled the cloth free from under it. The tension of the garment now released, she reached over and pushed up the covering on his other leg, then rested her hand on his thigh. The heat of her hand burned through the cloth and the leather.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He knew for a fact then and there that he had indeed gone mad, completely and joyously mad. How could he refuse her? She had demanded and received help from the most powerful druid in the world. Without letting a single hair fall out of place she had successfully smuggled him on board a ship full of people who would gladly hack him to pieces. She was the master here. He could plead for the gods' help but there was no doubt in his mind that they dared not cross her either.

He felt her settle against him, the warmth of her body soaking through his clothing. There was a brush against a certain sensitive area, which she quickly corrected with a soft sound of apology at his grunt of surprise. Then her hands were on his face and he shivered, every hair on his body standing on end. He gave himself up to her, something he had not done since Muruaneq had professed her love for him. And just like her, this one was skilled in the arts of manipulation. The correct degree of sadness she had displayed about the eyes and in the voice at his accusation was the mark of a true master. It was just his damned bad luck that he was an easy fool for such women.

The snip of her scissors finally stopped and then her hands were skimming over his shoulders and chest as she brushed the clippings off his body. When he opened his eyes, she had moved away to return her equipment to her cache. His last scrap of self preservation compelled him to be quiet and not move while another part ached for the return of her touch; her smile.

"Just a few things to go over with you," she said as she returned and sat down on the floor in front of him. "Your accent is too thick but I think you can get away with mumbling a 'light bless you' if need be. The other is how you should walk –"

"I walk with an accent?" he said. "I had no idea."

"No, that's not what I meant," she said with a giggle as light of heart as a child's. "Remember, you've been ill for several days. Your muscles are going to be weak and it's going to be a struggle just to walk." She stood and waved for him to do the same. "Stand up, please," she said, her voice now earnest and laden with gravity.

"We're going to be landing at the Stormwind docks, which you have seen every day of your life because you grew up there," she said once he'd gotten to his feet. She held one of her hands outstretched before her face. "Yawn, yawn, seen-it-before-nothing-new-here." His eyes were compelled to follow her hand as it went to rest at her waist. "Do not look about as if you're on reconnaissance," she said sternly and his eyes flew to her face. "There are people watching for exactly that kind of behavior.

"You, sir, are to play the part of a sickly human male. You have been confined to your room on a ship for several days because of seasickness. Now, what I want to teach you about is how to alter your stance. You've been immobile for a long time so your joints will be stiff. People who have been sick for a while move very stiffly; the legs don't swing from the hip and the knees are locked. They look more like they're rolling from one step to the other rather than actually walking.

"Tuck your hips," she said as she turned so she was side-on towards him and demonstrated what she meant. "See how your shoulders naturally roll forward and your back bows to compensate?"

Her performance was an amazing thing to watch; he had never seen so much energy in one person. Her entire body was another voice, echoing everything she said. At one point she drew herself up, the pose so taut he expected her to go on tiptoe like a dancer.

"Now that will get very tiring to maintain for any length of time, which works out fine since you're supposed to be enfeebled by your illness and we'll need to stop often so you can rest. I will be carrying both packs – you're weak and sickly, remember?"

She suddenly coughed, her throat no doubt dry from all that talking, then she put her arms around herself and her body began to shake. He heard her teeth chattering and in alarm grabbed her by both arms.

"Calm down, May. You've talked yourself into a fit," he said at her fearful stare up at him. He pulled her closer and tightened his hold. "Just breathe slowly; you'll be alright."

She stiffened and her body jerked but she didn't pull away.

"What is it, May?"

"I dreamed –" She stopped and he could almost hear her brain working. "I just remembered I had a dream about my father last night," she said, her voice slightly muffled against his chest.

He wondered why she lied and decided she wasn't going to get away with it this time. "And?" She shook her head and he pushed her back far enough so he could bend down and look into her face. She wouldn't raise her eyes and her skin had bloomed with a shocking color.

"Are you ill?"

She looked up at him in puzzled trepidation. "No?"

"Your face is red." He touched her cheek. "And it's hot."

She put her hands over her mouth which did nothing to stop a nervous giggle from bursting from her lips. Tears stood in her eyes. "No, I'm embarrassed," she finally said.

"You let something like that show?" he said, shocked at her carelessness. "What are you embarrassed about?" It was obvious from the way her face closed up that she didn't want to explain. He waited.

She looked down at her hands. "I dreamed he saved me and I just now realized that was really you." Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. "I don't want to think of you … that way. I hope I'm not giving you the wrong signals."

Signals –

His brain felt as if it had turned over in his head and he put his fingertips to his forehead to ease the strange sensation. He knew she wasn't a sin'dorei female and yet he expected her to act like one. No wonder he thought her clumsy, when he was truly the fool here.

"I'm sorry," he began and looked down to see her watching his face, that one eyebrow rising and about to disappear into the hair on her head. He reached out and pushed it back down. "Stop shouting at me, please," he said. "Shall we start over?"

"As long as I get to take that silly hood off your head first," she said as she reached for the ties.

The ship's bells began ringing and male voices called out up and down the decks. The Bravery had sailed within sight of her home. All too soon they would be arriving at the Stormwind docks and it would be time to leave her.


	25. Clear as a Bell

As the last of the bells' echoes died, she let her hands fall to her sides and rested her forehead on his chest. She made a soft growling sound then sighed as she lifted her face to his. Her eyes were sad for a moment and as he watched they glittered with increasing determination as she clenched her jaws. Her lips firmed into a grim line. On impulse he bent down to kiss her cheek, but she turned towards him and his caress landed at the corner of her mouth. He froze and felt her go just as still. He wondered if she was holding her breath with the same fearful amazement as he held his.

She had attacked him before in a moment not unlike this one, so he took her by her upper arms and held her gently but firmly. She didn't resist. "Tell me what you want; what you desire," he whispered, his lips lightly brushing her cheek; caressing the curve of her tiny ear.

She made no answer but only blinked her eyes several times as she stared back at him. He wondered how he had confused her. "Tell me, show me what you like," he repeated. "I will do my best to please you."

Her eyes went even wider as if she had been struck. Her lips parted. The ship's bells rang out again.

"Oh damn," she whispered. "I don't…" She shook her head and took a deep breath. "We don't have time for this," she said firmly. She shrugged off his hands and turned away to began picking up things off the floor. "Hurry! I don't want to give the first mate reason to throw us off the ship."

"Why would he have us thrown off?" he said as he reached for his pack. "We've paid our fare." He watched her snatch up bundles of cloth and sort through them. He was in no mood to help her and realized he was being quite childish. Why had she come to him only to push him away, he wondered. Damn but human females were strange creatures.

"When the ship docks, they're done; contract completed," she said angrily. "You don't leave on time you're thrown overboard. If the sharks take you, that's your problem. They have a schedule to keep."

Then she abruptly straightened and began to silently count off on her fingers. She turned to him with a look of happy excitement on her face. "I think we're three days ahead of schedule!"

He shrugged. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means we're ahead of the game. The closest horde port is miles away in Stranglethorn Vale."

"Not necessarily," he said, shaking his head. "They probably have both ends of Northrend covered with eyes in Warsong Hold and Vengeance Landing – I know I would. Besides, that frozen wasteland is crawling with both the Alliance and the Horde and I trust neither."

"You're right," she said, cloth dangling forgotten from both of her hands. "And if the assassins' guild is after you, too, nothing matters – except staying ahead of them."

She stared into his eyes for several moments before she returned to gathering up her things. He surreptitiously watched her as he pretended to fuss with the perfect arrangement of his clothing, wondering what was madly racing through her mind. As for himself, he was curious as to what point she would decide where his true value lay. She had cheated and betrayed not only her kind but her guild. When it came to the end, would she use him to buy her freedom?

She took one last survey of the small room, even making a point of sniffing the freshly cleaned bowl and he was amazed she would go to such lengths to make sure all clues about them had been removed. He smoothed his lips with his fingers to hide his smile at the thought of some member of the Alliance washing their face in what had been his toilet. Finally she declared herself satisfied with the room's condition and turned to scrutinize his disguise.

"Stoop a little more," she said as she pushed on his shoulder. She grabbed the staff where he had forgotten it in a corner and thrust it into his hand then took the one step away the tiny room allowed to give him a last inspection.

"Excellent disguise, if I don't say so myself," she said as she grinned at him. Her face took on a different countenance with spots of high color in her checks and her eyes sparkled with mischief. "I must have the name of your costumer, m'lord." She turned to the door and closed her eyes, then took a deep breath which she slowly released between pursed lips. "On stage, everyone," she whispered and then reached for the door knob.


	26. In the Belly of the Kraken

Beyond the open door he heard the shuffling steps of people slowly making their way up the one set of stairs to the upper deck. Once the two of them were spotted though the crowd of feet turned aside, with several passengers making soft plaints of disgust. Apparently he hadn't been forgiven for his illness despite having been out of sight and sound the entire voyage. Their attitude was so daunting he wondered if she had purposely spread bad stories about him during the voyage. She wasn't receiving better treatment however. A woman dressed in shimmering netherweave sharply reprimanded her when she chanced to move close enough to touch the offended lady's robes.

The light faded as they went up the stairs and he heard the scratch and flare of firesticks and smelt hot wax as lanterns were lit. Thanks to the Gods' own mercy that meant they had not arrived during high noon but sometime past sunset. He took a deeper breath, appreciating the warmth of the summer evening air even though it came intertwined with the stink of dead fish.

By the time they had shuffled out onto the deck the muscles in his legs were burning and his back and shoulders ached. He bowed his head even further and concentrated on maintaining the correct distance between himself and the ornately spurred leather boots of the man in front of him.

A warm hand slipped in between his arm and his side and he stiffened for a moment, startled by the unknown familiarity, then relaxed at the sound of May's soft voice. As soon as they had shuffled across the gangplank, he made for the first place he saw where he could sit while the impatient passengers flowed around them. He collapsed onto the bench and bowing his head, leaned forward with both hands wrapped around the staff.

"What's wrong with me," he whispered when she had sat down beside him. "I'm as weak as a newborn."

"You're fighting your body; your posture is all wrong and your body is trying to compensate." She patted his arm. "You're doing fine. A very believable performance."

"Thank you," he growled. "Do you know when the ship to Northrend docks?"

"We have an hour," she said then got to her feet. "We need to keep moving. I don't want to be seen here either."

He looked up at her but her face was an unreadable shadow within her hood. She waited, a silent and patient statue, for him to stand and begin his journey down to the icebreaker's berth. If they were discovered she had nothing to lose, not here among her own kind. Only unbelievable luck would get him safely past the harbor sharks to the less hostile lands to the south. Sighing heavily in defeat he rose and reassumed his painful and awkward posture and gait.

Once down the pier and onto the heavily fortified wharf he was amazed at the bustle of activity in the port. Men – mostly human although there were a few dwarfs – carried crates and heavy bags to and fro while laden flat topped wagons pulled by teams of massive horses rattled by them over the cobblestones. Tents and caravans had been set up along the walls where other men were either cooking or sleeping. A glance upwards revealed the walls themselves were the fortifications of batteries that went on, tier upon tier, to the city proper.

There was a sharp jab in his ribs and caught off guard he bent over, coughing. "Mind yourself," she hissed at him. "Eyes down!"

"Trouble, Miss?" said a deep voice. Ceawlin raised his eyes just far enough to see the bottom half of a Stormwind tabard over the man's armor and suppressed a cringe.

"Oh, thank you, sir," May said, sweetness and charm dripping from every word. "Could you help us get to the ship to Northrend? I'm afraid my brother has found the voyage from Kalimdor very debilitating."

"Should I call for a litter, Miss?"

"That might take too long," May said. "Could you just take our packs? Sam would be more willing to lean on me if you would do that." There was a grunt from the city guard as he took their packs amid May's coos of appreciation and expressions of awe at the man's strength.

"Has there been talk about voyages being shorter, Guard …?" May said, her voice now taking on a light, girlish tone. "I don't know exactly how long it took but it did feel shorter than it has before."

"Willis of the Bravery has mentioned they've been running a little quicker lately," the guard said, ignoring her prompt for his name. "Just been the past month people noticed. No one knows why. Picardo of the Kraken said even the trip to Northrend is shorter these days."

"The Kraken … oh, isn't that such a fierce name for a ship!" May prattled on excitedly. "Is it fast? Have you been on it?"

She went on to question the guard about local events and gossip, effectively keeping him occupied while poor brother 'Sam' hung on her other arm and tried to not slow their pace too much. He also was able to snatch telling glimpses of the Stormwind armaments; her cautions to the contrary be damned. When they had finally arrived at The Kraken's pier he snorted in derision at the sight of the ship and barely remembered in time to cover the sound with another coughing fit.

This mighty and fierce icebreaker looked no more than an ordinary ship of the line plunked into a giant's cheap gravy boat with a bundle of paddles stuck up its ass. No sails had been furled on the yards and yet the useless masts remained. The down turned cutwater at the front of the boat was poorly designed and probably ineffective against ice of any thickness. He decided he'd have to see it actually perform before he would believe it could pull itself out of its own tracks.

There wasn't a line of passengers waiting to board and the guard was kind enough to escort them up the gangplank to the First Mate. The price of their fares was discussed and the money exchanged without haggling. A sailor was called to take them below and to carry their packs. May had described it perfectly. The lower deck nearly stretched from one end of the ship to the other with only the captain's cabin forward and a walled off smaller section to the rear. A black iron shaft rose up through the middle of the floor, splitting in two sections at the roof that went into the front cabin and to the back. Chairs had been placed around the shaft and bolted down and several tiers of hammocks hung on one wall. The heat of the room was oppressive and there was the nose curling stink of burning fuel.

The sailor advised May of the rules and pointed out the location of the slop closet then secured their packs in webbing under the hammocks before leaving. Ceawlin climbed into the swaying bed and then realized they wouldn't be sleeping together; there was barely enough room for him in it. A wave of misery took him when he realized he would not be drifting off to sleep with the feel of her fingers in his hair. He already missed the touch of her body against his, despite knowing that in the hot room the amount of heat her body produced would be uncomfortable.

She took a seat in one of the chairs around the central shaft and leaned back and closed her eyes. It would seem the chair was uncomfortable; she stood and resettled into it several times, unable to find a spot soft enough to allow her to rest. He wanted to reach out and take her hand; caress her skin as a way to soothe her. Or perhaps, he had to admit, to merely assuage his feelings of guilt.

He couldn't sleep, knowing she suffered and his thoughts turned to their last moments in The Bravery cabin. Her confusion must have actually been shock that he had asked her to take the lead in their lovemaking instead of forcing her to acquiesce to his demands. He wondered if she had ever had her sexual needs fulfilled. Why else had she been that surprised that the most important thing to him was to know what she wanted? He couldn't have picked the worst time to ask her though and he definitely would need to make amends for that. It had been incredibly stupid of him to lose track of where they were!


	27. Calibrations

There was a rustle of cloth, then a shadow fell over him and he held his breath as he fought to remain at ease. "It's me," she whispered. Her voice came from a point almost level with his face; she must have knelt beside his hammock.

"Can't sleep?" he replied just as softly.

Before she could answer he heard footsteps and her clothing whispered as she shifted to face their visitor and then he was in her shadow again as she stood.

"Ma'am," the first mate said. "With the captain's respects, we're taking on a contingent of troops since we're running light this trip. One of our guards will be making sure of your safety." She must have signaled to one right then judging by the approaching heavy tread of plate boots. "Can your brother stand?"

"No, ma'am," May answered, her voice low with a childlike shyness. "He's worn out from the sea sickness he suffered on the voyage from Kalimdor."

The first mate cleared her throat. "Yes, he does look a bit thin."

The officer went on to say more but her words were drowned by the sound of more footsteps – those of soft boots and plate and even the slap of bare feet on the wooden floor. He drew back behind May and carefully lifted one edge of his cap to take a quick peek. Within the shadows he knew his eyes would shine all the brighter and he took extra care not to be caught out. A mass of heavily guarded civilians had filed in, some in rags and broken shoes, their faces drawn and haggard.

May's fist dropped into his view, the knuckles white from how tightly she had clenched her hand. "These people are troops?" Her voice was soft but deep and rough with anger.

"Civilian recruits from Westfall," the first mate explained nonchalantly.

"One way for the king to rid himself of the starving – throw them at the Horde and the scourge in Northrend," May said in that quiet, outraged voice. "Look at them – they're only so much walking meat…"

"Talk like that, you sound like a Defias sympathizer," the officer said, her voice laced with calm, relentless ice.

"The Defias are a lie the House of Nobles use to beat the poor into submission," May retorted.

"Might I remind you, you are heading into a war zone," the first mate said in that same emotionless tone. "Best you remember which side you are on. Might be you'll be one of those lost. A lot of people get lost out there."

He reached out and took May's clenched fist – a touch to warn and to comfort, if she was willing to accept that from him. There were no further words between the two women and after a bit, the first mate walked away. May shook off his hand and turned to push at his shoulder. He shifted to the very back edge and she sat on the lip of the hammock, then drew up both feet to sit cross-legged. He curled around her like a great cat and while she didn't acknowledge his presence, she didn't challenge it either. Neither did she cry but since he couldn't see where the guard was, he did not dare say anything. Finally with sadness weighing heavily upon him, sleep claimed it's hard fought victory and took him away.

* * *

His ears hurt and his feet were cold. He pulled up his legs to find a warmer spot and only succeeded in letting a demonic cold in under his robe to claw at him. Then he realized if he didn't get to the slop closet very soon he was going to make mess of his clothing.

"'Bout time you woke up," May said as she walked up, a steaming bowl in each of her hands. "You slept through breakfast."

He shrugged off the brown colored heavy material that was covering him and got to his feet. A few moments in the cold and he snatched it back up and pulled it tightly around him. He pointed in the direction of the necessary. May put the bowls down on the floor next to their luggage and took his arm.

"Sickly, sickly, now brother dear," she whispered. "You can't run, remember?"

Once there it was torture taking the scant moments to open and then shut the door on her grinning face. He nearly ripped his clothing in his haste before he could relieve himself and then he was surprised at the volume. How long had he slept, he wondered with a bit of amusement.

"What time is it," he asked May when he left the small room.

"Calibrating your water clock are you?" she said with a smile. "It's after noon. And apparently they've set a new record – we'll be docking at Valiance Keep within the hour."


	28. Hot and Cold

Her clothing softly crackled as she walked beside him and he noticed she was wearing something he hadn't seen before. The ankle length long-coat was made of a gray material that had a soft sheen in the brighter light of the common room. She allowed the attached hood to hang down her back, despite her breath frosting in the cold room. In fact she seemed very comfortable with the garment unbuttoned and hanging open while the blanket he had wrapped tightly about himself was proving to be scant protection. He had even pulled it over his head and had stretched a corner across his face but the cold brazenly overran those defenses as if he wore nothing at all.

The first mate's "troops" were tightly huddled together around the center shaft and the officer at least had seen fit to finally give them blankets as well. The double doors to the upper deck were shut but it was still cold enough to freeze the balls off an ice revenant. Where had all that suffocating heat gone?

Once they were back at their hammock, May handed one of the bowls to him. "The other one is yours, too. If you can't eat it all, I'll finish it. Want not; waste not."

The porridge was nearly cold through and through and a bare tick away from being inedible. At least it was something to fill the empty hole in his gut. He wistfully remembered the pot she had cooked in Timbermaw and thought how much better the world would be if everyone could cook as well as she did.

"Where did you get that coat?" he said when he handed the bowls back to her.

"If you had looked through your pack you would have found your own, just like this one," she said primly. "Remember, we were told they'd pack the gear we'd need."

It was true he'd never been curious enough to really look through it, just a quick glance at the contents while searching for something else. He pulled his pack to him and opened it, noticing there was a trussed bundle that was the same color as her coat. It looked too small to be anything he could wear but it began to expand the moment he loosened the ties. He stood and shook out the garment and there was a soft sound as another heap of clothing fell to the floor at his feet.

He leaned down to snatch it up and found his fingers easily closing about the strange soft material with astonishing ease. It swelled around his fingers, as if more liquid than fabric, while the trailing edges pooled on the floor.

"Those hippogryph feathers are amazing," May said, laughing. "I wish you could see your face."

"Hippogryph feathers?" he repeated in disbelief. "What is this thing?"

"You put it on over your clothing before you put on the coat," she said as she lifted her overcoat's lapel to reveal the same material underneath. "It's some kind of insulating garment stuffed with hippogryph down."

"How do you know – did you take yours apart?"

She laughed again, a wonderful carefree sound. "I admit I opened a seam – just a little bit," she said as she looked at him through the scant space between her thumb and finger held before her face. "And very cleverly sewed it back together."

He let the blanket fall and shrugged into the strange garment. The cold immediately released its hold on him and had to satisfy itself by whipping around his neck. He grabbed up the overcoat but in his haste to put it on he bumped the side of his head and almost fell to his knees as pain stabbed through his ears.

May was instantly at his side. "What's the matter?" When he didn't answer she pulled his coat tighter about him and buttoned it up. She reached up and touched his hands where he had cupped them over his ears.

"Don't!" he hissed. "Gods above please don't touch them." He carefully sank down to the floor and then gently pulled the coat's hood over the cap that bound his ears in an unnatural position.

"Recruits! On your feet!" one of the soldiers roared. "Form up!"

He heard and felt the tread of plate boots approaching and then May was pulling on his arm to get him on his feet again. Bells rang out; they'd come into the harbor.

"Trouble here, miss?" a gruff male voice asked.

"We're fine, thank you," May answered sharply.

"First Mate's compliments, miss, you're to disembark first. She would take it kindly if you'd make it quick," the soldier said, then left.

"Can you do it?" May whispered. "He didn't offer any help and I'm not in the mood to ask."

"Yes, it's not far to the inn," he said. "I should be able to make it that far." At the sound of her sucking her breath through her teeth, he softly chuckled. "Remember, I've been to the Borean Tundra before and I am quite familiar with the Alliance's fortifications."

Once on deck he had to shield his eyes for a few moments so they could adjust to the bright sunlight. Tall billowing clouds lazily sailed across a clean, blue sky that arched over them like a huge bowl. Ahead the keep crouched at the edge of the black rocks supporting it while colorful banners danced in the same harsh wind that whipped and tugged at his coat. It was damn cold but at least it wasn't snowing. He had to keep a tight hold on the front of his hood or else it and the cap under it would have been ripped off his head. There was a moment of queasiness as the ship lurched backwards to slow down and ease up to the pier. A small figure waited at the end of the gangplank, so bundled up it was impossible to tell anything else about it.

"Welcome to Valiance Keep, gentles," it said, a male gnome by the sound of the voice and the accent. "Dockmaster Copperbeam at your service."

Ceawlin bowed to the small person then quickly turned away, certain that as short as the gnome was, it was possible he would see into his disguise. He wordlessly pointed ahead to the inn for May and set off without waiting for her. As they approached the tall building, a traveler handed over the reins to his horse to another small, heavily bundled person while laying something else in their other outstretched hand.

They followed the traveler into the inn's sheltered entrance and once inside the building proper, Ceawlin immediately felt suffocated by the warmth. His face and fingers burned from the change in temperature. Somewhere in the floors above an instrument was being attacked, its screams for help humans were proud to call music. The barbaric sounds overwhelmed his ears, making it impossible to tell how many people had taken refuge inside. May stopped for a moment, then pulled him up some stairs to a landing with a table and two chairs. She pushed him into the seat against the wall and handed her pack to him.

"Stay here and be good," she told him. "I need to go see a man about a horse."


	29. Horses and Wolves

Enveloped within her shadow, he dared look into her face and wished in vain for the ability to mimic her dance of the eyebrows. "Not going to be too long, are you?" he said softly.

She reached out and lightly caressed his jaw. Without saying a word she tugged on the top lip of his hood, pulling it forward until it completely covered his face. He gasped, terrified of more damage to his ears, but the cowl moved freely across the cap underneath without causing any further pain. Unaware of what she had done, May then turned and bounded down the stairs as if she had done nothing more than playfully tease her bothersome pest of a baby brother. It took him a few moments to calm his nerves. He watched her saunter out the inn's door, thinking she had changed so much from the first time he had laid eyes on her.

Once he had recovered his composure, he stuffed one pack against himself and the wall for an arm rest while holding the other in his lap. He shook his head, remembering she was the reason why he had lost badly needed bounty money for the bear that had nearly killed him. She was also the reason why he was still breathing, that is if she was Condidan's killer. He knew for a fact she was responsible for the spot on the top of his skull that was still tender to the touch.

He had awakened from that blow to the head to find himself splayed across a table in a cold room and wearing nothing but his braies. She had played with him as a cat toys with a mouse, all the while judging him with piercing brown eyes that held no warmth. She had let him go only to chase him down with very little effort and then had nearly killed him with a sliver of a knife. He flexed his shoulder, remembering how easily the blade had slipped under his armor. It had ripped open his skin with ease, the poison it carried burning through his blood as he crumpled like a dead thing. The wound felt completely healed but the memory sent ripples of uneasiness down his spine.

The pack he'd placed in his lap shifted and he absentmindedly pulled it back into place. Then of all the strangest things to happen, she had fainted that first night in Timbermaw. The furbolgs had locked her up in a room without any light for several hours while he had met with their leaders. It did not make sense that that was all that was necessary to make her break like a piece of glass. The next morning she had awakened a different person – fearful and shy – and for the first time he had seen her for the child she truly was. Yes, it was good to see her regaining her confidence.

Again the pack slipped down his legs and he reached for it, barely catching it by its straps. There was a moment of resistance and he realized someone was under the table pulling on it. He kicked with one foot, only to feel a sharp pain lance across his ankle. He kicked with both feet and then bent down to look under the table. Nothing. He stood and angrily glanced about the inn but no one met his eyes.

Then with a pang of freezing terror he realized how stupid he was acting and sat back down, coughing into both hands to hide his face. He had let his temper get the better of him and in that moment of blinding anger he had nearly destroyed everything they had accomplished. He closed his eyes and thanked every god he could think of for that moment of charity. Then with trembling fingers he busied himself with arranging the packs so the rogue – he was certain of that now – would not be able to steal them.

Finally satisfied their possessions were safe, he concentrated on what he could hear through the music to learn about his surroundings. There was a sudden burst of hissing and spattering and he looked up to see a cloud of steam rise up the stairwell from the kitchen below. He wrinkled his nose at the strange smell, not sure if he found it completely offensive or not. Then he realized he was reminded of how dwarves would steep raw meat in beer before cooking it – it did have some of that odor. He frowned at the memories that came rushing at him; of desperation, betrayal and friendships long lost.

Movement at the inn's doorway caught his eye; May had returned. She ducked into the kitchen and shortly thereafter came up the stairs to him.

"It's not going to be too hard to get some horses," she whispered as she pulled her chair closer to his. "There's a stable at the back that has only one guard."

He twitched his hand across the tabletop as a signal for her to stop for a moment. "There's a rogue in here," he whispered. "They tried to steal one of our packs."

She immediately went still and stared back at him. He waited for her to speak but her complacent face betrayed nothing. She nonchalantly leaned back in her chair.

He sighed. "I don't think much of horses," he said, when it was obvious she wasn't going to comment about the other rogue. "They're worthless out here. There's no forage for them and they're stupid. Most animals in the wild consider them – and their riders – easy meals on the hoof.

"Wolves, now, can hunt for their own food," he continued in answer to the faint smile twitching her lips to one side. "And to ride a wolf is exhilarating."

"Yes, exhilarating when they consider you as a snack for later", she said with wry humor. "Hand over my pack. We're leaving."

He tossed hers to her then brought up his leg to check for damage. There was a faint mark across the top of his ankle but the skin hadn't been broken. Neither did the soft leather of his shoe show any cuts or tears. He stood and shrugged into the straps of his pack and followed her out the door.


	30. On the Hoof

Just as May reached for the handle, the door began to open. She rushed at it, hitting it with all her weight and slammed it shut only to jerk it open again. Her victim came stumbling into the room and she yanked them forward over her outthrust foot. Then she pushed Ceawlin outside and he tripped over the threshold stone and fell face first onto the cobblestones. He turned over and looked back just as she stood and leaned into the inn to call for help, a prone body at her feet.

She turned and gave Ceawlin a hand up, then pulled him into a crowd of people who looked as if they were the troops off the icebreaker. Not one of them changed their stride nor roused from their despondent state of mind to complain of her trespass. She nonchalantly linked her arm in his as they moved further into the keep grounds with the group.

"What was all that about," he whispered, eyes front.

"Just exercising a little caution is all," she replied in return.

"Was that the rogue?"

"No."

"Somebody they called, then."

"What I woulda done."

"Did you kill him?" he said, aghast that the possibility of another's innocence meant nothing to her.

"No, his nap's not permanent," she said, matter of fact. "Soonest we quit this place the better."

He suppressed a shiver, thinking perhaps she hadn't changed after all.

The crowd parted around a horse being led by a short person heavily wrapped against the cold and May slowed down to keep pace with the animal and its keeper. Ceawlin noticed that the street had been swept clean; there wasn't any snow even in the cracks between the stone pavers. Substantial planters of flowers and plants lined the low walls and the vegetation seemed to be thriving despite the harsh weather.

The troops turned to one side to line up in front of a huge rough table that had been set up in front of a three story building under construction. On the other side of the expanse of wood were seated two Alliance officers while their aides made entries in large, thick books amidst the noise of hammering and sawing. The enlisted men looked almost as dispirited as those they examined and sorted as if they were so many cattle.

May tugged on his arm, pulling him with her as she followed the horse. They went down broad wooden steps that led to another icebreaker floating in a long narrow berth that cut the keep in half. As they walked across the deck, he couldn't help thinking this idea had some merit. If one side of the keep were taken, the craft would be burned and sunk to halt an enemy's advance. In the meantime, it was extra storage and place to bunk people down temporarily as well as being on stand-by should the other ship be lost or damaged.

He stopped at the bottom of the steps up to the other half of the keep and leaned close to May's ear. "There's another exit past that table behind us," he whispered. "It's the best way out of here since we need to follow the shore to the north."

She nodded once and resumed following the horse, which had gotten a fair stretch ahead of them. Her hand went into his pocket and his nose caught the slightly loamy smell of carrots.

"The pen isn't all that secure," she whispered. "The horses stay because that's where their food and shelter is. When I distract the guard, go to the far end and use the carrots to pull the horses to you."

The street along the left side of the keep was lined with merchants' and tradesmen's booths and May drifted from one side to the other to glance over their wares. A cold wind swept through the shadowed area, funneled between the high walls of the keep and the outer protective palisade. Ceawlin shivered as a draft toyed with the hem of his robe and curled around his ankles. Damn but he missed his boots.

The stables were beyond the little marketplace and she walked up to a man standing outside while Ceawlin continued on to the end of the small enclosure. Indeed there wasn't much to the fence; a single top pole had been loosely set between each upright pair that had been sunk into the stones. Two horses stood together, nose to tail, hipshot and drowsing in a patch of sunlight. Neither was saddled but they were covered in thick blankets. He glanced back at May. She had positioned the stable master so his back was to Ceawlin. The short person who had led the horse from the inn had joined them as well after releasing his charge into the pen without taking off its saddle.

Ceawlin eased the cross beam out of its channel and carefully lowered it to the ground. He took the carrots she had no doubt stolen from the inn's kitchen out of his pocket and snapped one into pieces. Both horses raised their heads, ears twitching, and the one facing away from him turned around. He took a bite out of one of the pieces and chewed it with his mouth open. His targets bobbed their heads but maintained their distance, studying him with wary brown eyes.

The newest member of the paddock gang was intrigued, however, and as it walked up to Ceawlin one of the other horses decided to look into the matter as well. He checked on May's progress and saw that she still had her audience's full attention. He pulled the still saddled horse through the opening first and gave it a treat. The other horse was a little skittish but it did let him take hold of its bridle while he fed it a share of the spoils.

Looking over his shoulder he could see he didn't have very far to go to be out of sight of those at the front of the stables. He moved between the horses and gently pulled them with him to the corner of the keep, scant feet away. The overly cautious horse remained in the pen but moved to stand at the opening as if to bid farewell to his compatriots. Ceawlin sent it a silent blessing of thanks. As long as it stood there no one at the barn would see the dropped pole and know something was amiss.


	31. And Out the Door

Once he and the horses were safely out of sight, he wondered how long he should wait for her. The horses nosed him for more treats and he automatically fed the rest of the carrots to them, his mind running in useless circles. He had pointed out what he thought was the best route out of the keep but was he making a mistake in assuming she had agreed? Why should he wait for her at all? Maybe the best thing to do was to go on and not wait for one of the keep's guards to find him.

The sound of metal scraping on stone came from above him and he instinctively shrank against the wall. Of course, look-outs on the battlements – stupid of him to forget! He vaulted into the saddle, his next course of action decided for him. She had found him easily enough among the broken hills of Winterspring; surely the wide plains of the Borean Tundra would give her no problems either.

He slowed his horse to an amble at the column of guards and civilian recruits outside the keep. They shuffled to one side to let him through and mindful of his disguise he nodded as a way of giving thanks for their courtesy. He did his best not to look for a woman in a light grey long-coat among them. The walkway wound down and around to the berthed icebreaker and he dismounted to lead the horses back across. Thankfully the animals had been well trained and did not balk at walking across the wide wooden steps.

The lines of recruits at the enlistment table were no shorter than when he had passed through the first time. The weary voices droned on, questions and answers, as the tired clerks filled in the pages of their books. Behind the unfinished building and down a few rough steps, the dwarves had set up an open air blacksmith shop. The smell of beer and hot iron brought back good memories of hard work and even harder sport among that hearty race. The human who had sundered the friendship between the elves and the dwarves deserved the hellish death he'd earned. He spat to one side of his mount, praying that if there was any justice in the world Garithos' soul would burn for all eternity.

The gate to his freedom lay just ahead. The massive wooden doors had been thrown open and he could see the black stone of the neighboring cliffs through the opening. There was still no sign of May. Every beat of the horses' hooves took him further from her but he dared not stop. A sardonic laugh bubbled in his throat and he had to fight to suppress it. Why was the thought of being free of her so painful? Cut her loose and be done with her, he told himself, the wound would heal fast enough.

He nearly jumped out of the saddle at the booming echoes of a shield being struck coming from his right. His horse shied and tossed its head, fighting for control of the reins. He turned towards the sounds of fighting and his hand automatically went to the hilt of his sword. Two human males circled each other in a small arena while a dwarf watched with bleak disgust, his arms folded across his chest. Ceawlin took a quick look about but no one seemed to have noticed his reaction to the commotion. He allowed himself a sigh of relief and patted his horse's shoulder before urging it on to the gate.

A short, wide causeway over a channel connected the keep to the mainland and the road beyond wound its way up the side of a cliff to a lighthouse. There was a small human settlement beyond that, crowded about the mining tunnels that ran through the range of hills bordering the shore. He did not fear they would stop him, coming as he did from the direction of the keep. Most kept to themselves in this harsh land and did not care to go asking for more trouble than they had already found.

He kicked the horse into a trot. The sun was on its slide down into the sea and he would need to find shelter a safe distance from the keep before it set. There was still no sign of May. And he missed her, dammit.


	32. A Horse Too Many

The horses' hooves were a low thunder as they crossed over the bridge, their iron shoes booming with every strike on the wooden cross members. It was a relief to his suffering ears once they were over it and to only hear the sand's soft hiss with their every step. There were other sounds he was missing and it took him a bit to realize what they were. There were no birds on the wing, calling out to each other, and none danced squawking among the waves gently slapping against the rocks. The sky was empty as far as he could see. Even the wind spoke with a whisper.

Once at the top of the winding path he could see much had changed since the last time he had passed through the region. The short tough grass was an unhealthy yellow and large patches were stained a dark red, almost the color of dried blood. The lighthouse stood tall, its light brightly shining at the far end of the bluff while two guards stood outside on either side of its one door. Ceawlin raised a hand in greeting, as any innocent traveler would, and resumed his trek down the road.

The wheat fields were filled with short yellow stalks but none of the crop waited, either baled or sheaved, for the farmers. Then he saw the burnt out houses and outbuildings. He passed under the eaves of the largest structure and noticed it had been repaired however. It was either a church or a town hall and had a bell tower. He urged the horses on again, with a mental note to make sure to not stop until he was out of sight of it. He knew he was being watched. He also knew to appear curious would be deadly.

The road thinned to no more than a footpath that descended at such a sharp angle to the beach he saw he would have to lead the horses down it. He dismounted and felt so exposed on the wide expanse that he kicked the horse into a trot once he had climbed back in the saddle. To run would have marked him as guilty – it wouldn't matter of what – and thus fair game to hunt. A tall set of rocks marked the far end of the stretch and setting his eyes on it, he thought of nothing else but the safety in their shadows.

He didn't stop at those first rocks but went on to the fifth group where a stream fell down a short cliff to the shore. The watchtower was finally out of sight. He hobbled the horses and pulled off his gloves, then sat down to take off his cap. May had done well by him the second time she had wrapped his ears and the cloth binding them slipped off without pulling his hair. He didn't dare touch his ears but let the cold numb them before putting the cap back on and then the long-coat's hood.

The sun was barely more than a hand's span from setting and he knew he wouldn't make it to the shelter he had in mind before dark. He could survive the cold with the new gear he had but he would be at the mercy of prowling wolves without a fire. And a fire would draw even worse predators. The horses turned their heads and looked back down their trail. He stood and drew his sword, the cold hilt burning his bare hand, and slipped further into the rocks. The horses nickered; someone they knew?

"Don't be shy," May said. "It's just me."

The horse she rode came to a stop next to the others and stood on splayed, trembling legs with its head down. She leisurely slipped off its back, unconcerned that it looked about to fall out from under her.

His eyes were drawn to the animal. A white horse, its muzzle was grey as was its mane and tail, hooves and ears. Its fetlocks were feathered with long hairs that ran up to the back of its knees and hocks. Its high arched neck flowed into a wide, deep chest and its powerful hindquarters confirmed a strength able to carry a fully armored paladin into battle - an Alliance paladin. A shiver of awe and fear lifted every hair on his head before running down his back and chest.

"May," he said softly, his mouth dry. "What have you done?"

She reached over and proudly patted the horse on its shoulder. "I found him in a graveyard. I watched for a bit but nobody came for him." She hunkered down at its head and peeled back one of its eyelids. "He wouldn't let me get near him so I drugged him," she said as she flashed one of her sliver-knives. "A paladin should have a charger," she said, smiling up at him.

"I appreciate the thought," he said, "but it's not going to work." He held up his hand at her frowning glare. "Chargers bond for life – a stronger bond than master and minion. They will fight to the death when their rider falls and they would rather starve to death than take another."

He slowly walked up to the animal and stroked its mane. The coarse hairs were cold to the touch and its skin quivered under his bare hand. The animal made no move to attack him and he dared reach for the belly strap to unbuckle it. He held his breath as he gently pulled the saddle off its broad back. From the puzzled look on her face she truly had no idea the beast would seek to kill him once it came to its senses. Even half dead as it was, it would follow its training until it collapsed. He turned and pulled the blanket off the second horse before saddling it as fast as he could.

"You can't stare the will to live back into him," he said when he returned to her side. "Look at his ribs – he hasn't eaten for some time. His rider is dead, May. Let him be."

He wanted to touch her, comfort her somehow but her obvious anger made him hesitate. "At least we now have a saddle for the other horse," he said gently as he shoved his hands back into his gloves.

"Aren't you going to kill it," she finally said. "Put it out of its misery," she commanded.

He shook his head and went to his horse. "I've killed too many as it is," he said as he climbed into the saddle. "Maybe it will change its mind and decide to live. It's getting late, May, and it will be dark before we get to safety for the night."

She snatched the discarded horse blanket off the ground and rolling it up tightly, tied it behind her saddle. As she settled on her horse, she favored him with a look simmering with contempt.

"I don't think I have the right to make that decision," he said as he turned his horse's head west and set it into motion with a touch of his heel. "Not anymore."


	33. Cold Hard Safety

The sun cast long shadows across their path and the deeper reaches of the sky began to faintly shimmer with colorful dancing lights. In the distance herds of caribou and mammoths swarmed over the green, treeless plain, the knots of animals breaking away to form new groups. May often stood in her stirrups, her head swiveling as she tried to see everything.

"Beautiful, isn't it," he shouted.

"No, it needs mountains," she yelled back. "And rivers that go to the sea."

She pointed at sudden spout of water gushing skyward. He shook his head and nudged his horse into a faster pace to catch up with hers. "Poisoned water," he explained once he was close enough. "The Earth Mother is at Her worst this far north and the rocks burn with Her anger. The water tries to jump away but it's trapped and it's forced to wallow in its own venom.

"My gear is useless for hunting," he said as he touched his sword's hilt. "There's a sweet-water sump not too far ahead. Get us something for dinner."

"And eat it raw?" she said, frowning. "We don't have anything to make a fire."

He laughed. "There will be when we stop for the night," he said.

After that he saw her cast her knives twice. Each time there was a blur of gray and then she dismounted to pick up her kill. She never missed.

The sun was barely above the horizon when they came upon the waterhole. She immediately set to work on the hares she had killed and he told her to save the skins as the Tuskarr valued them as trade goods. After she had cleaned the carcasses she carefully wrapped them in cloth. As he stepped away to find some privacy he wondered if she had left any behind on the boat.

She wasn't with the horses when he returned. He gave them a once over, especially making sure the larger saddle off the charger rested comfortably on May's horse. Picking up each hoof, he saw that the inner part had been treated with a heavy, oily substance against the snow compacting there. The one they had followed to the stable didn't have as much but he felt the animal was in no danger. Neither of them had any open or half healed wounds from ice cutting the skin on the lower part of their legs. All in all, they were in good shape as horses went.

The last of the sun slipped behind the mountains on the horizon and he realized he was looking towards the shield wall surrounding Sholazar Basin. The sunken valley was a bright, warm jewel in the heart of the frozen north, rich with wildlife for the hunt and ripe fruit hanging from nearly every tree. He had had friends there, or at least, friendly people who had asked no questions and expected nothing in return. He turned away to find May watching him, her face carefully smooth.

He sighed and shook his head. "Sometimes you can't go where your heart yearns to be," he said as he climbed into the saddle. "It doesn't understand what it is to wait. It thinks when you tell it, 'later' that what you're actually saying is 'never'."

"Be wary of your wants," she said gravely. "They will own you." At his expectant look she shook her head and turned away to mount her horse. "Someday when the mood strikes at the right time we'll share our stories."

He looked north again then urged his horse on past hers.

* * *

The first patches of snow began to grow together until the ground was completely covered in white. A persistent wind came up at nightfall and he loosened his hold on the reins to let his horse find its way through the drifts. For safety's sake he told May to follow in his horse's track. They were still miles away from the safe house when he saw flashes of lightning on the horizon. He pulled his horse to a stop and waited for her to catch up with him.

"I'm not sure if we'll make it to shelter before the storm hits or not," he said. "But it's too dangerous to go faster. I don't enjoy having to decide between both of us falling into a drift or you falling asleep and freezing to death."

"I have been caught in snowstorms before," she answered hotly. "I am not stupid."

"You said you've never been to this part of Northrend," he said. "You are about to understand my caution."

"How far is your shelter?" When he didn't immediately answer, she said, "Do you even know where it is?"

"Now you're being stupid," he said and urged his horse forward again. At least she had sense enough to be quiet after that.

* * *

The wind blew in stronger gusts and the thunder rumbled louder. He had hoped the storm would move off to one side but the lightning strikes danced from one end of his line of sight to the other. He pushed off his hood and listened for the sea. He should have been able to hear it pounding the rocks around the ruined Tuskarr town of Kalaska by now. With no sounds to guide him and the storm hiding the stars and the moon, he was lost.

He glanced in her direction and she immediately looked away.

"Come hold my horse," he said. "Hold him while I stand in the saddle." She got down and put both hands on his mount's bridle. At her nod, he kicked his feet free from the stirrups and with a bounce, landed with one foot on the horse's withers and the other on the crown of its croup. Startled, the animal lurched to one side but he was able to keep his balance.

He cupped his hands at the base of each ear and turned to catch any sound that would help him place where they were. What he found interesting was an area where the noise of the storm was slightly muffled.

He sat down and put his feet back in the stirrups. "I think I know where we are. Follow me," he said and headed straight for that quieter zone.

The first of the storm driven snow hit his face like hundreds of tiny needles. There was a brilliant flash of lightning ahead, leisurely followed by a booming roar of thunder that grew louder as it rolled over them. His horse reared, screaming, then refused to go any further. He got down and pulled it forward only to knock the back of his head and shoulders against a rock hard surface. He turned to reach out into the darkness and his fingers scraped over rough stone.

"I found it, May!" he shouted. "I found it!"

She didn't answer. He pulled his horse with him and retraced his steps until he found her. She sat slumped in the saddle but made no indication she had heard him. He reached up and jerked her down with one hand, then took her by one arm and shook her until she began to fight back.

"Walk!" he yelled into her ear and pushed her ahead of him, steering her back to the stone monolith with rough jerking pulls and shoves. If he guessed correctly, she would nurse her anger until she had the opportunity to get back at him. So long as she made it to the shelter on her own two feet she could stomp a mud hole in his gut for all he cared.

Snow had drifted as high as his head on one side of the huge stone sculpture and he stopped and thrust the reins to his horse in her hands. He bent down at the base of the mound of snow and dug around its edge until he found a large rock. He rolled it to one side with a silent heartfelt prayer he would find –

He shouted with joy and tugged on the end of the huge wooly rhino hide that disguised the opening to the Tuskarr shelter until he had an opening large enough to push May through. Her horse made to follow and he pushed at it, encouraging it to keep going. It stopped midway and he used its body to support the enormous hide while he widened the doorway until he was able to pull his in as well.

In the middle of a desert of ice, they took shelter in a house made of packed snow. They were safe.


	34. The Ice Breaks

His horse pushed by him and he let it find its own way down the dark sloping ramp to the house proper. Even he could smell the sweet hay stored below and it was in the best interest of all concerned to let the animal have precedence. He kept one hand on the curved wall, feeling his way with both hands and feet. Somewhere ahead was a cache of food and water – and most importantly, lucifronds and torches.

Aside from the sounds of the horses tearing at the hay, it was quiet. He softly called for May but she made no answer. His foot struck a piece of outthrust stone and he leaned against the wall, cursing at the pain of a stubbed toe. He had found the storage bin. Damn, he missed his boots.

Her continued silence worried him. All that noise should have made her laugh. A fumbling search of the floor by touch revealed a length of wood, the handle to the box's lid. Once he had it opened, the stink of pitch assaulted his nose but no creature hid within to challenge him as he groped for and found the torches. Lucifronds, slender strips of wood tipped with a flammable essence, had been tied to the shaft of each one.

He quickly lit a torch and held it above his head to inspect the small shelter. May had come to rest at the floor's lowest point. She sat with her arms wrapped around her legs and her head resting on her kneecaps. Beyond her was the fire pit and neat stacks of kindling. To one side was a huge cooking stone, with a flattened top.

He laid out fuel for a fire and pushed the torch into the tinder until it lit, then set the light in a socket in the cooking stone. What little smoke there was rose to the ceiling, proving the exhaust vent was clear. Returning to the bin he found a large bowl that had the look of being human made and some shallow stone dishes.

He stopped on his way out to get snow to melt for water to check on May. At his touch on her shoulder she looked up at him with dull eyes. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths and her face was very pale. He called her by name again but her expression didn't change. She brushed the front of her coat and thinking she was uncomfortable, he opened it and the insulating garment underneath.

The tubes in the pockets of her leather carrying case were dusted with ice. He stared at them in horrified amazement at the thought of them bursting and the contents mixing to poison them all. He set the bowl down and slowly worked her out of the coat and the hippogryph garment so he could pull the case off over her head. After a moment of indecision, he stood and placed it on the floor on the other side of the horses and the fire. The contents would either stay frozen there or would slowly and safely thaw.

Why had her coat failed to keep her warm? May had nearly killed herself keeping the frozen tubes so close to her heart. He pulled the horse blanket off from behind her saddle and arranged it on the floor near the fire, then spread his long-coat over it. He picked her up and laid her down on his makeshift nest so she faced the heat, then covered her with her coats.

He snatched up the bowl again and ran to the doorway but stopped at the opening to listen for a few moments before stepping outside. The snow had been covered with a thin layer of ice. By the time he had scooped up and compressed enough into the bowl to fill it, his hands were stinging from the cold. Heavy clouds gray with snow filled the sky and with any luck more would fall and cover his tracks.

Once back inside, he set the bowl by the fire to melt and then pulled out the hare carcasses and laid them in the shallow dishes on the cooking stone. He stood and held his hands out to the fire until they were warm again before going back to May.

She made no sound nor did she try to push him away when he picked her up, then sat on the blanket with her cradled in his lap. He took off her shoes and rubbed her stocking feet before removing her gloves and massaging her hands. Her breathing had slowed somewhat and a bit of color had returned to her cheeks.

When he put his hands on her chest to unbutton her jacket, she gasped and turned her head, her eyes squeezed shut. Her shirt now exposed, he grabbed it by both sides and pulled it out of her pants. She stiffened and her shoulders rose in defensive curves towards her face.

He stopped and studied her, confused at her reaction. Then he understood. At some point in her short life she had been used – used badly, if not mistreated or even raped. Fury roared through him and at her weak cry he realized he was hurting her.

He loosened his grip on her arms and pulled her to him, his hands flat against her back. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," he whispered as he gently caressed her.

Her weariness and the warmth of the room did more to overcome her defenses than his touch. It wasn't important, he decided when he heard her softly snoring. Reaching behind her, he caught the collar of her coat and hooked it over her shoulders. He then lay back with her on his chest and she curled her hands under her chin.

He put both hands under her shirt to massage her back. Waves of moisture bore her scent to his nose as the warmth of her body increased. From that first night in the Timbermaw Hold he'd been aware of her unique odor – a pungent wildness with the tang of a distant ocean. His hands brushed over the gentle rise and fall of her ribs; with a fingertip he traced each jutting bone in her spine. No, no softness in this one, he thought, his lips curving in a rueful smile. He pushed a wayward mass of hair back behind her ear. None whatsoever – unless you considered the generous curve of her bottom lip.

Her body finally relaxed and she made a soft chuffing sound in the back of her throat as she settled against him. He tightened his hold on her and made to turn on his side. Despite his efforts to make her feel secure, she jerked and grabbed at him.

"Don't leave me," she cried, her eyes still closed.

"I'm here, May."

"Ceawlin." Her voice was hard edged and commanding.

"Here, May," he said with a spark of wonder as every particle of his spirit leapt to answer her call.

She put one arm around his neck and threw a leg over his to hook him closer to her. Her need flowed over him, pouring into every empty crevasse in his soul, smoothing every ragged edge. He found it hard to breathe for a moment as his heart … his heart …

The wards gave way to the bracing air of freedom. He drew a deep breath and felt it nourish places in his being he had not realized was starving. His heart now unguarded, burned and ached with the memory of past anguish and the fear of future betrayal. He realized that all the times he'd tried to stay outside those spheres of emotions had been exercises in futility. He'd done nothing more than wear himself down – an inevitable slide into her keeping. He resigned himself to his fate as he drank in her moisture laden scent and felt his soul fling wide enough to hold the world, as long as she was there.


	35. The Snow Melts

He woke to the smell of cooking meat. May was a river of warmth against his back and legs. He grabbed as much of his hair as he could and carefully pulled it forward over his shoulder. She often went to sleep with it intertwined in her fingers and he didn't want to wake her by jerking it out of her hands when he got up.

The torch was still burning but the flames halfheartedly danced about the remains of its ball of pitch as if ready to die. The fire was smoldering when he walked up to it and he carefully pushed the butt ends of the kindling into its center with his foot before adding more fuel. Half of each rabbit looked safely cooked but the rest of the carcasses looked doubtful. The snow had melted in the large bowl, leaving a sprinkle of sand at the bottom of the meager puddle of water.

He went to the horses and checked their girths, then used them as a shield as he faced the wall and emptied his bladder. A search through his pack turned up a small packet of salt but nothing else to make the meat palatable. He didn't dare look through hers for spices. However, he could use some of her hoarded cloth and pulled two pieces out.

A quick jog back up to the shelter's door and he had a handful of snow wrapped in one cloth. He set it in a reasonably clean spot on the cooking stone to melt while on the other cloth he put the meat he had pulled off the bones. With the now wet cloth in hand he went back to her side and gently shook her shoulder.

She looked up at him with a frown. "What," she said, her voice flat and angry.

"You need to sit up, May," he said, holding the cloth out to her. "Wash your hands and have a drink of water."

He patiently waited on her while she slowly sat up and crossed her ankles, taking back the cloth when she was done and supporting the bowl while she drank. She looked around the room, then up at him.

Guessing at her need, he pointed to where the horses stood. "Watch your step."

She leaned forward and pulled herself to her feet in one fluid motion, only to stumble and fall against him. He watched her wobbling progress across the room but looked away when she dropped her pants without warning as soon as she was on the other side of the horses. He smothered a laugh and went back outside for more snow.

When he returned to put the bowl by the fire she had already taken the cloth with the meat to their makeshift bed and had divided it into two mounds. The larger portion she pointed out was his and frowned and shook her head at him when he offered to share some of it with her.

"So what would make a Blood Knight hide himself in the wilds of Winterspring," she said. She ate her share of the food with great dignity, even to the point of carefully licking each finger before wiping her hands on her shirt. "Where did your charger disappear to?"

"A great teacher once told me most troubles begin with a question," he said, deliberately altering his voice to make it sound as if he were about to tell a story.

The silence stretched on for a few moments, then she reached over and flicked the tips of her fingers against his upper arm. For the sake of diplomacy he smothered his laugh in his shoulder.

He tidied up after their meal and went back to the bed, uncertain of whether or not she was willing to share. She looked up at him, her arms crossed and that expressive eyebrow cocked. Obviously he was keeping her from finishing out her sleep. He sat down and she motioned he was to lay down with his back to her. She pulled up the coats to cover them both and then snuggled up against him, putting her hand on his hip to pull herself in close. She cupped the side of his head behind his ear with one hand as if they were a couple long married and was soon asleep.

He had indeed teased her but it was true, questions called forth the ire of so many things. Without question he had consumed the fel energies of demons to slake a hunger that had nearly destroyed him. Without question he had fed on the energy of another captured and enslaved being, stealing its life-force to nourish his. There had been moments when he had thought how selfish and wrong he was to do these things, but did one not also kill for food? How was one means of attaining sustenance different from another? But to feed upon a Naaru, a being of countless years and a sentient personification of The Light, did that not make the blood elves vermin?

Those feelings had lain festering at the bottom of his soul until he had been sent to desecrate Uther Lightbringer's tomb. On the way there he remembered thinking all paladins should be ashamed of the one who failed in his handling of his greatest pupil and so by association, had brought on the worst of the world's catastrophes, the scourge.

There had been two Alliance paladins at the tomb, one weighed down by the count of many years and one so young his commission must have followed hard on the date of his majority. They made no move to attack him but stood ready, their intent plain should he advance to carry out his orders. They would have made for easy honor; the child a pitifully effortless kill and the old one hardly more of a challenge.

He had hesitated, wondering what great wrong would be undone with the spilling of their blood. How many Alliance deaths would it take to cure Kael'Thas Sunstrider of his madness and return the blood elves to their former glory? How much blood would be needed to wash away the evil the human Lordaeron leader Othmar Garithos had done to the dwarves and the sin'dorei? Would not their deaths only add to the world's sickness? He had suddenly felt lost, an overwhelming sense of there being no flawless path among all the things that were supposed to be true. He had laid his hand over his heart, then bowed to them and left. At the end of the path he had torn up his orders and had never reported back to his commander.

He must have made a sound or moved without realizing it; May snuggled closer and gently combed her fingers through the hair behind his ear. The warmth of her body against his pushed aside his questions, his memories, his fears and within moments he had drifted back into sleep's arms to the sound of her gentle snores.


	36. Best Intentions

He felt a gentle pressure on his face; warmth from an exhaled breath. The cool, silken kiss of her hair caressed his cheek. Her scent enveloped him as she gently brushed her face against his, first one side then the other. The tip of her tongue probed the corner of his mouth and he couldn't help smiling. She kissed him, then sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and carefully held it between her teeth. He stretched and turned over onto his back. She moved with him, tucking his arm under hers and straddled him with one leg between his. He put his arms around her and pulled her closer.

"Tell me, show me what you like," she said, her voice a soft, throaty purr in his ear. "I will do my best to please you."

The ferocious desire that coursed through his body had him gasping for breath. Ashamed and embarrassed at the force of his sudden arousal, his face burned with a blush that went to the tips of his ears. She jerked to one side and drove a knee into his groin. He swung at her – _andmissedDAMMIT_ – then rolled to one side and curled in on himself around his outraged bladder.

"The gods damn you, woman," he bellowed. "Play fair!"

Her deep rolling chuckle rang out from the darkness. "Never."

He concentrated on the pain of his wounded body and ego so he could drive out the seductive memory of her voice and touch. As he folded his hand into fist he focused on the movement of each finger, then struck the floor as hard as he could. Nausea swept over him and he rested his forehead against the cold stone until it passed. She had paid him back for every pain he had visited on her twice over, even the least of them.

Finally he was able to stand and limp to the makeshift toilet. Once he was done, he walked over to one of the horses and leaned against it to catch his breath. Gone was the frightened girl who had clung to him in the night against the cold and the dark. He had made the mistake of forgetting she was a rogue foremost was what it boiled down to and he had no one to blame but himself.

The horse shifted to one side, interrupting his wool gathering. They needed to be on the move again. He went back to the bed and found his coat neatly folded on the floor. Shrugging into it, he realized that all this time he hadn't heard anything from her nor had seen her moving about in the small room. He frowned at the thought of packing up by himself then set to work.

He pulled his horse out of the straw and began to put its tack back on. There was a rustling on the other side of him and May brought her horse closer to the fire. When he had his horse ready, he started cleaning up their dishes without a word to her. She went about doing her share with an easy grace but every time he got near her, suddenly she was out of reach.

He took one last look about the room and turned to motion to her to move out but she was already on her way. He stomped out the last of the fire and followed her up the slope to the outside. She was kind enough to hold the flap open for him and helped replace the rocks that held it down.

"We have a visitor," she said softly as he positioned the last rock. He glanced up at her and she pointed with her chin at something behind him.

He carefully turned around, thinking she meant a small animal he wasn't to frighten, and instead saw the white horse watching them. Fear tore through him, rendering him as still and as mute as a block of stone. He had touched the dying charger, giving it his scent but nothing could have followed them through the blizzard with so little. Did the Alliance paladins call forth demons to serve them as he had? It had to be an unnatural creature! It had somehow not only lived through the storm but had also been able to find them. A wild, hysterical thought had him wondering if the damned thing was part hell hound.

It stood regarding them for a bit, then growing more agitated, trotted towards them only to bolt, turn and repeat its strange display. Their horses nervously danced and tossed their heads. He didn't know whether to try to out run it or not. On the battlefield the chargers had been their masters' right hands and he knew this one would kill his horse to get to him. It might even kill May. Finally the charger reared, screaming, then turned and ran out of sight.

He wasted no time in mounting his horse and kicked it into a fast trot in the opposite direction. Finally he could stand the jolting gait no longer and pulling his horse to a halt, half fell out of the stirrups to the ground. Face down in the snow, he fought waves of nausea but quickly lost that battle and got up on all fours to vomit. He heard footsteps crunching towards him and then May was pulling his hair back from his face.

"Come now," she said her voice lilting with suppressed laughter. "I didn't hit you that hard."

He got to his feet and spat a few times, then wiped his face with the back of his glove. "Yes, you did, you idiot."

"Well, I didn't mean to," she said, frowning, and he realized that was all the apology he was going to get from her. "Why did you take off so fast?"

"Alliance charger, horde paladin," he said, pointing at his chest. "They aren't just mounts. I don't know how they're trained to kill; maybe by sight, maybe smell. I do know it will try its damnedest to kill me and maybe you too since you've been around me for so long."

Her eyes widened at that, then that sharp assessing gaze focused on him. "Talk about best intentions going bad," she said, her mouth twisting in anger. She looked back down the way they had come. "I have something for nausea but it would put you to sleep. Anyway, I don't see it anymore so best we get moving."

He nodded at the unspoken question and pushed past her to his horse to gingerly climb back in the saddle. "We should be in Unu'pe before noon," he said and kneed his horse into an easier ground covering gait.


	37. Cloth and Scraps

The light brightened as they continued west but the clouds were a unbroken, uniform gray from one horizon to the other. Aside from the complaints of his empty stomach while it gnawed on itself the trip was uneventful. They had put many miles between themselves and the shelter and they had yet to see either hide or tail of the white horse. After a while he felt reassured enough to relax his watch and allow his horse to slow to a walk.

When they came upon the first ruins, he knew they were finally coming up on the outlying edge of the Tuskarr town of Unu'pe. He led the way through the remains of shattered homes, where bits of tattered hides, their decorations now faded, hung from the broken arches of massive whale bones.

"What happened here?" May said, her voice respectfully hushed.

"Kvaldir. The Tuskarr call them 'walkers of the mist' – they're ghosts of the seafaring vrykul," he explained. "The pirates blame the Forsaken for stirring them up; the Forsaken say it was the pirates. Doesn't really matter when the Tuskarr are the ones dying."

May looked back the way they had come, then turned her horse about. He stopped as well, thinking she had seen the charger, but after a few moments she kicked her mount into a fast trot back to his side.

"Do those huge stones have faces or am I seeing things?" she said, flipping her thumb at the statues in question. "If they do, they're all looking in the same direction."

He nodded. "They are a place for the Tuskarrs' ancestors to inhabit. It's said they're able to talk to their children. Speaking of which, how much of that cloth can you spare?"

"Depends on how much you need," she said guardedly.

"We'll need provisions for the remainder of the trip to Dalaran," he explained. She acted as if he were asking her to part with one of her own arms. "For the horses, mostly. There's damn little for them to eat the further we go inland."

"Why is cloth valuable to them? Give me an idea just so I can get a feel for how much they'd – how much I should ask for it," she said. Her eyes were actually gleaming with excitement.

"They fly kites in the shape of fish from some of these stone statues," he went on, enjoying the role of being both fisherman and lure to her. "Before the Alliance and the Horde landed in Northrend all they had to build them with was seaweed and hides. Once the Tuskarr were introduced to cloth they immediately saw its value. It can take and hold color longer and it's a bit more sturdy."

"What are these kites used for?"

He sighed and looked ahead. There was a dark blue line he hadn't seen earlier; it could only be the Great Sea. "Some of their gods live in the sea, where they get most of their food. Maybe they try to reach beyond this sea of air to talk to the gods who live in the stars." He shrugged. "No one but the Turkarr know."

She was very thoughtful the remainder of the trip into Unu'pe.


	38. Walker of Waves

As they entered Unu'pe proper, something big taking flight from the bottom of the cliff caught his attention. He shaded his eyes and tracked it for several moments before he realized it was a Horde windrider.

He leaned over and caught May by the arm. "Help me with my disguise," he said quietly. "And I'll need an extra one of your cloths for a mask." When they had both dismounted, he pulled both horses in front of him as a barrier to prying eyes.

"What's the matter?" she said as she took the materials from her pack.

"The flight master here is a goblin," he explained. "Damn meddlesome bastards, the lot of them, and information of any sort is money to them. If you need to call me by name while we're down there, use Dalgrin."

"What kind of name is that," she said as she wrapped one cloth around his ears and another around the lower part of his face.

"One I'll answer to," he said as he replaced his cap and hood, then laughed at her scornful snort.

He had her sling her pack with his on one horse and to take the lead while he brought up the rear with both their mounts into the small town. She easily picked out which one of the tall, heavyset individuals was a merchant and got down to business with him without hesitation despite the large tusks he sported.

While she was so engaged, he looked down at the dock. The huge turtle the Tuskarr used as a boat to sail from Unu'pe to their other town of Moa'ki was not in sight.

"Pay attention, boy," May said and hit him on the arm. She pointed at the filled sacks at her feet. "Load the horses and make it quick."

He glared at her before he came to his senses, then quickly bowed with a fist to his forehead before picking up her purchases. She pushed him to one side as she left the building with her nose canted at the proper lofty angle. He allowed her a respectful distance then followed her in his guise as the perfect servant.

"Are we ready to leave?" she said once they were far enough away from any eavesdroppers.

"Not quite yet," he said as he distributed the new supplies among their packs. "The _Walker of Waves _wasn't at the dock." He bent down and pulled up one of his horse's feet. "Ask around for some tar or rendered whale blubber. The horses' hooves need to be packed again," he said as he straightened. "After that maybe we'll have time to stand around a fire and thaw out a bit."

"Speaking of four-footed friends," May said quietly as she motioned for him to turn about. "The white horse is back."

"Then we don't need to be standing around," he said as he grabbed both sets of reins and started off for the dock without looking.

May grabbed his arm, stopping his headlong rush. He turned on her, ready to let fly, but she held up her hand and nodded towards the town. For once she was being the sensible one, he realized. This was not the time to act out of character. He let out an explosive breath then continued walking down the path towards the dock.

She led the way as she had before, slowly and elegantly, while he listened for the thudding rush of hooves and a scream of rage before the animal killed him. Sweat ran down the side of his face. They walked across the wooden dock to its end without pandemonium breaking out or the world ending in flames.

May let out a sigh of relief – the _Walker_ was coming in to port. He didn't know if he could feel the same satisfaction. More often than not the hand of doom descended just as escape seemed possible. He concentrated instead on the line of sweat trickling down the side of his neck, a torment from hell itself. There was no use in believing in the wild, improbable hope that they would get away from the creature without a scratch.

The huge turtle stopped when the master pulled the carrot he had been dangling in front of its face out of its line of sight. Two burly Tuskarr came down the ramp off the turtle's back and conferred with the dockmaster, who motioned to May to come forward. Ceawlin followed her, pulling the horses with him while maintaining his servile distance.

She assured the dockmaster that the horses were indeed hers and he waved to the two huge beings who towered over May and were three times her girth. They each took position at each end of the first horse and led it to the ramp. At the first step onto the undulating surface, the animal balked and the Tuskarr at the end threw his arms around the horse's legs and setting his shoulder at its rump, pushed it forward. The one at the front put his arm around the horse's neck and for all intents and purposes, carried it to the top of the platform. The animal didn't have the chance to put up a fight. In no time at all the Tuskarrs were back down the ramp and were taking the second horse to stand beside its brother. It was a marvelously shocking display of strength and single-minded determination to get the job done.

May paid the dockmaster and went up the ramp, Ceawlin a shadow at her back. He could see why the horses were hesitant to board. Despite its great size the turtle wallowed at the mercy of the waves and he for one was grateful for the handrails' support. She stopped at the top of the platform and looked back into the town while he went on to the seats at the back.

The charger was indeed walking through the buildings, its head swinging from side to side as if searching for them. Ceawlin looked down between his legs and noticed there was just enough room under the seat for a full sized person to hide. He eased forward until he was perched at the edge, ready to roll under it the moment the beast set foot on the ramp.

The horse raised its head and stared at May as she stood at the top of the stairs. She dropped her hands to rest them on the hilts of her daggers. It walked forward again as if she had sent a welcoming sign, stopping only at the end of the dock. It looked over each side as if considering its next move then carefully placed one foot on the ramp and then the other. Ceawlin dove under his seat. The dockmaster began yelling and the Tuskarr on the turtle turned towards May.

Nose to the wood of the ramp, the charger slowly walked up to the platform then brushed by May to where Ceawlin lay hidden. It stuck its muzzle under the seat, then exhaled loudly through both nostrils at him and stomped one foot.

May bent over laughing. Ceawlin silently cursed her, damning her for her black heart.


	39. The Lost is Found

He heard May crooning softly as she slowly walked up the stairs. The charger lifted its head and he caught a glimpse of her face as she moved past him, her adoring eyes fixed on the beast standing above her. She raised her hand and then she had stepped up to the same level as he was and all he could see were her legs and feet. After a moment she went backwards down the steps, the horse following her. He was astonished to see her leading it away just by holding her hand under its jaw.

As soon the horse was a safe distance away, he crawled out from under the seat. She had placed the charger between the other two horses but didn't tie it to the same pole. The two Tuskarr towered over her, the broad mats of bristles around their long tusks twitching in anger as they demanded payment for the extra horse's passage.

Once everything was settled to everyone's satisfaction, the turtle's master cast the carrot on the stick out in front of its face again and they were off. Ceawlin climbed to the highest part of the platform and made himself comfortable in a corner seat. He flung one arm over the side and leaned his head against the back railing. The sky was empty of even the least of clouds and the purity and depth of its blue color almost broke his heart. He closed his eyes and luxuriated in the warmth on his face and neck.

"Like a lizard in the sun," May said, laughter purring through her voice. He had not heard her coming up the steps.

He smiled and peered up at her one-eyed, then reached out and patted the empty space beside him. "How is the newest member of our little group behaving himself?"

"Well enough," she said as she accepted his offer. "Strange how he's not the avenging..." She cocked her head sideways in thought. "Yes, that is the right word. He's not the avenging four-legged angel you think he is."

"I'm not convinced," he answered, his good spirits suddenly gone. He looked over the side of the turtle to the icy water below. "I wouldn't survive for very long if I had to jump to escape him."

"I'll protect you," she said.

He laughed and reached out to pull her closer but stopped without completing the act, astounded at his own brazen assumption. Without hesitation she settled against him with a little smile, one hand on his chest as if that was her natural place from the moment she was born. He leaned back and closed his eyes again and she laid her head on his shoulder. This is how it should always be, he thought. If only there were no more people or animals seeking to set the world right by killing him. By the gods above, he prayed, please, no more.

True to her word she did act as his protector during the voyage, standing between him and the charger when he walked down to the edge of the ramp and keeping watch while he did what was necessary. The charger never made another move towards him, content to keep either an eye or an ear cocked in his direction. At May's suggestion he tried once to get close to the beast, but it lowered its head, with ears back and teeth bared. He took the hint and thereafter kept his distance.

He would rather kill it. He had faced too many not to know they were formidable opponents. It had the appearance of a beautiful animal but what lay behind its dark eyes was something he could not understand or bend to his will. A strange tension would spread through his spine whenever he turned his back on it. The feeling was not unlike a demon wrapping its talons around his bones.

The clouds had moved back in again by the time they passed Moonrest Gardens, an ancient haunted Highborne city now lying in ruins. Beyond it was the Lothalor Woodlands where that edge of the Dragonblight region faced the Great Sea with high, sheer cliffs. By the time the thin spire of the Briny Pinnacle loomed before them, it had started to snow. Huge fish kites, almost the size of a grown horse, bobbed above the shrine to the Tuskarrs' ocean goddess, Oacha'noa, with long, colorful fins snapping in the wind.

Knowing Moa'ki Harbor was not too far ahead, Ceawlin asked May to get her map. While she was pulling it free from her pack, the charger nosed at her clothing. Ceawlin tensed, worried that it would attack her. How stupid of him to forget he had transferred some of his scent to her. She ignored the larger beast as if it were a harmless pet. It followed her the few paces to the stairs before returning to where it had stood with the other horses.

May handed the map to him before retaking her seat and leaned against him as he unfurled it.

"Here is where we are," he said touching the map with the tip of his index finger. "And here is Moa'ki and that is Wyrmrest Temple, where we can get safe passage to Dalaran."

May measured off the distance between each landmark with her fingers and grimaced at the final tally. "Damn ass long trip, pallie. Any more of those safe houses 'tween us and this temple?"

"No – the Wolvars are at war with the Tuskarrs and destroy everything they find of theirs. However, on the same token, we can steal from the Wolvars, if need be," he said as he dusted off the snowflakes and folded up the map. He handed it to her and then replaced his mask.

"There's a goblin flightmaster at Moa'ki," he said at her quizzical look. "Their reason for living is the buying and selling of everything, especially information. I'm sure there's a reward posted at every flight path with my face and description. I'll get off first and head out. We can meet up later."

As the _Walker_ came into Moa'ki harbor, a line of people formed at the end of the dock. The closest harbor to Dalaran meant it was a busy one if the large expanse of exposed black sand was any indication. What little snow escaped being trod under foot clung to the satety of the rooftops and around the base of each building. In the distance the light patter of snowflakes made the trees seem wreathed in smoke. He could hear shouting above the noise of the port and realized with a smile that the Wolvers on the hills above were yelling insults down at the Tuskarr.

Once he was off the turtle boat he walked towards the tree line north of the tiny village and didn't look back until he reached the safety of their shadows to check on May's progress. She led his horse while she rode slowly down the path he had taken, the white horse her ghostly shadow. He took the reins from her then dusted his saddle off before setting foot in the stirrups but the seat was still a damn frigid welcome. At least the long-coat would keep the worst of the cold at bay until the rest of him warmed up.

She took up her usual spot at the rear, steering her horse onto the trail he broke through the snow covered brush. Now and then strange calls echoed in the distance through the woods. When the light began to fail he decided to start looking for a place to spend the night. They came out from under the trees to a wide clearing which they again encircled quite a ways in the distance. He started to turn to May when a single figure stood up from where it had been hiding in the deep snow in the clearing's center and waved to them.

Ceawlin turned to May but she didn't look away from the person in front of them, her face smoothed of all emotion.

"Hello, lass. Mister Pallie," the stranger called cheerfully. Ceawlin recognized the voice as belonging to May's dwarf companion. Out of the trees behind him a taller being muffled in flowing robes walked towards them, followed by a horse-shaped demon.

His charger.


	40. The Lost Returned

The shrouded figure stopped in front of Ceawlin and reached up to fold back its face veil, revealing the desiccated features of a corpse. A faint yellowish light filled the Forsaken's eyeless sockets while its jaw gaped in mockery of a smile. Pale bits of meat and skin still clung to its skull. Ceawlin's gasp of horror caught in his throat as the undead chanted in a low, deep voice, the bones of its fingers whispering and clicking as it worked a spell.

The sounds blunted Ceawlin's hearing as a mist rose from the ground around him, clouding his vision as well. The cold no longer burned his face and his breath no longer plumed when he exhaled. He felt no discomfort from standing in the deep snow. When had he gotten off his horse? The question nagged at him, setting off a wave of unease that cleared some of the fog in his mind.

He focused on the creature standing before him and counted out the events to this point in time to counter its magic. It had the demon beside it enthralled; the Forsaken could only be a warlock. Saturna had said the demon had answered his call when he had desecrated the church so it was bound to him. The warlock was using the demon to control him. He desperately tried to think of something else. He had to break the spell the warlock was channeling before his soul was taken.

There were sounds of shouting echoing from far away and then he heard the dwarf's voice as clearly as if he stood at Ceawlin's side. "Lass, I knew I wuz ah dead man 'fore I came here. Fahrad would have killed meh on the spot iffen I refused. Tiergan's gonna kill me when I get home cuz I got you murdered. At least I getta explain 'fore you send meh ta Hell." The dwarf's words were spoken in great pain. Ceawlin realized with stab of nausea he could smell them as if they were bloody.

He spun in a circle but there was no one else in sight but the warlock. It raised its voice and pain lanced through his skull. Movement to his right caught his attention but whatever it was had disappeared before he could get a good look. He was losing control; reacting like a cornered beast.

He concentrated on what he knew he should be seeing and feeling. May had been standing on his left – standing with quiet, fluid grace, her hooded eyes on the dwarf while her face revealed nothing of what she thought. Immediately he felt the cold seize him, his face burning from its harsh touch.

May appeared at his side and he grabbed her upper arm with his right hand, spinning them both to his right, while his left hand went out to fold her into his chest. Suddenly he was falling to the ground and screaming with such force he could feel he was channeling a great pain outward so it couldn't touch him. He cradled his left arm, staring at the stump without understanding why his hand was gone. There was something resting against his back – the body of his attacker. Another body lay at May's feet. Beyond her more dark figures were closing in.

He had to live to save her. All he needed, all he wanted, was to live for a few moments more so she would survive. He ground his teeth as the pain rolled over him, his tongue pressed hard against the roof of his mouth to keep from crying out. He reached into the neck of his armor and pulled on his linen shirt, ripping out a strip to bind the wound. His blood had splashed on the white snow, the black surge of life now a crimson pool he knelt within.

He wrapped the cloth around the end of his arm, slowing the flow of blood. He closed his eyes and turned his thoughts inward, demanding the Light to answer – demanding its complete and utter obedience. The fel magic's raw filth leapt to the fore and with a savage thrust of will he banished it to a far corner of his soul. For May all things would obey him; for May he was the weapon that would destroy those who would harm her.

The shimmer of another presence permeated his mind and its glory blinded him. When he opened his mind's eye, he found himself hovering above the world in a vast sea of darkness without end. In the next breath the world was lost in a swirl of light, in another the glowing disk was one among countless others.

"My child," a voice called and every particle of his being leapt to answer.

_Wings of gold and white raced towards him …_

"My child, **accept** …"

_He swam in an endless ocean of light, his soul expanding, reaching out to encompass it all …_

"You do not steal what is freely given ..."

… _to intertwine, to mesh …_

"Accept my **GIFT**"

… _to **IGNITE**._

He opened himself to the Light and it roared into him, burning throughout his body, his soul, while a blackness, a void, screamed, dying as it fled, falling as ashes behind his eyes.

I am **the light**

The hot, searing smell of molten ore burned her nose; the rock under her feet trembled. May turned to look back at the blood elf – what had he whispered? He knelt with head bowed while a bubbling radiance spread out under the snow around him. A golden shimmer passed between them as an arc of blinding light jumped from his wounded arm to the ground.

She screamed and turned to leap away. Every bone in her body creaked in protest as she was caught in a fierce embrace and returned to the earth. A sound, a thrum, vibrated through her bones and teeth as her breath was squeezed out of her body. She curled in on herself, her only thought to will one more breath of air into her chest for one more moment of life.


	41. Anchor

He woke to the echoes of thunder rolling in the distance. He gasped for air and choked, then sputtered and coughed until his throat was raw. Finally his body remembered how to breathe and he closed his eyes, relishing that simple activity. A shiver ran through his body at the memory of the Light coursing through his blood and everything in his sight disappearing under the wave of its inexorable power.

Tears welled behind his eyelids and ran down the side of his head. The world was empty of sound and movement. No breath of wind touched his face. He opened his eyes to a blinding light and quickly squeezed them shut again. In the emptiness he heard a faint, shy song and he held his breath for a moment to listen. Tiny motes of green life moved in the ground beneath him and flowed through the trees' roots and leaves. He smiled at the joy boiling throughout each spark's soap-bubble existence. He opened his eyes and looked up to a sky he was sure he had never seen that shade of blue before, so clean and deep. Motes of water and air swarmed before him, dancing and gathering only to break away and regroup. He could actually see how the interplay of heat and cold made the clouds billow and foam.

He himself was no more than a drop of water lying on the dry soil, aware that at any moment the fragile barrier between them would break and he would soak into the earth. He could see the drops joining under the ground until they were a stream that rose to the surface. The sun then warmed them and they rose to the heavens only to fall to earth again. Why then fear death when it was but a return to the forge, to be made anew as bright and as sharp as if on the first day of creation.

May leaned over him and a sweet solemn peace infused his soul with joy that she lived. For the first time he could see the faint traces of freckles across her nose and that the deep wells of her brown eyes were flecked with green. He stared at her, fascinated by her subtle beauty. There was something he wanted to tell her but his throat and mouth would not obey; he could only smile at her. He had forgotten the words. There was a soft sound of wings and he could feel the barrier dissolving. He was so tired, his eyelids were so heavy. Maybe if he rested them for only a moment …

The blood elf closed his eyes and his head lolled to one side. She laid a trembling hand against his neck to see if life still beat through his veins. After a moment's stillness she thought she had the wrong place and fought the impulse to panic and move her hand to the other side. It seemed an eternity before she felt the surge against her fingers, slow but strong. She bowed her head. After a moment she wiped away the tears from her eyes, promising herself to have a good cry later.

He had stepped in front of her and had taken the brunt of that hellish attack. No one had ever done that for her. No one had ever thought to protect her. She realized he had been gentle with her for a long time, ever since ... Ever since the nightmare she'd had in Timbermaw Hold. Tears rose in her eyes and she shivered, remembering the dark emptiness and images of death in that dream.

No time for wool gathering, she told herself, she needed to think about survival. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. There was no sign of the warlock or the demon horse and too, no evidence remained of the rogues she had killed. Even their own horses and packs were gone. The snow had been cleared from under them and quite a distance away in all directions. The blast had scoured the exposed stretch of stone, leaving it clean of dirt and slightly warm to the touch. With a shiver she ran her finger down the length of one of the many cracks in the rock that radiated from under the blood elf. She had seen a paladin's consecration spell before but never one so powerful.

She carefully unwound the bloody, rough bandage from around the end of his arm only to find the wound was completely healed, the skin smooth without puckers or exposed bones. There were no marks on his other hand or arm. A shadow fell across his body and in an instant both blades were back in her hands as she turned, crouching, to face the new danger.

The white horse stood over them, as gentle as any trusted mount. She watched in mild shock as it gently nosed the blood elf's face and hair before doing the same inspection on his damaged arm. With a gasp she remembered he had touched the horse's mane with that hand. Both of his hands had been bare that night for some odd reason.

"Did he call you back, too?" she whispered, the sound of her voice raw in her own ears. A laugh burst from her lips and she covered her mouth with both hands to stifle it as she watched the horse push at the blood elf's shoulder before walking off the rock to dig in the snow for food.

A trill of birdsong came from the trees to her left and she whistled a few notes in answer, signaling the all clear to Reprisals. The short, stocky dwarf had no problems forcing his way through the deep snow but stopped at the leading edge of the exposed stone to touch it with a cautious hand. He stared down at it while rubbing the tips of that hand's fingers together before traversing the bare rock to join her. He took in the placement of the blood elf's body stretched out on his back and her sitting at his side. Her hand resting protectively on his chest held Rep's attention the longest. His face did not betray him, dwarves being the first among those skilled at being stone-faced, but she knew better. Were she a dog her hackles would have risen in defense.

"Lass," he said softly.

"He's still alive Rep, you didn't get him killed," she said, careful to keep her tone neutral. "So, where are all your friends?"

"Wuzzn't my intention, lass," he said. "'N' they weren't my friends – they used meh for bait, wuz all."

"Well, here we sit waiting to found again," she said and lightly caressed the blood elf's hair.

"The goblins gotta flying machine not too far from here," Rep said with a backwards flick of his hand. "But it ain't no use –"

"Shut it," she said, pouncing on the slim hope. "Go get the contraption. All hell and its minions are on their way to find out what happened here."

Rep looked from her face to the blood elf's and back again. "Lass, we ain't gotta chance."

"We're not dead yet," she growled, all patience gone. "Run, you little bastard."

"I'll giv ya tha un, lass," he said, raising his fist at her. He turned and whistled. After a few moments a large ram bounded up to him and he sank his fists into the thick wooly coat to swing into the saddle twice again his height from the ground. A slap of the reins and he was gone.

She made sure the blood elf was completely covered by his long-coat then gently smoothed his hair back into place. She stretched out beside him, one arm across his chest to hold him tight and let him know she was still there. And, if it were at all possible, to keep him from ever leaving her again.


	42. On the Wing

She tried to rest, truly she did, she wanted so much to go to sleep. However, she thought as she rolled onto her back and stared up at the bright blue sky, this ain't the right place nor time. The two of them were dressed in light colored clothing and lying on dark rock in the middle of a field of snow. If that wasn't begging for something to smack them, she didn't know better.

Turning on her side, she got up on one elbow and laid her hand on the blood elf's chest. His breathing was easier now; not so much like he perched on the edge of death. She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. Rep needed to hurry his ass, she decided. At best they would stay bare steps ahead of the mob as it was.

She studied the blood elf's face, remembering her first sight of his yellow hair and the feel of it in her hand. Smiling, she closed her eyes and thought how his eyes had been shut then and here they were acting that out again. When she had disobeyed her orders and had let the paladin go to satisfy her own motives. What had she been thinking crossing Fahrad, she lamented as she tapped her forehead on her kneecaps. The rogue guildmaster was a cold bastard; anyone betrayed the guild and they were soon dead.

Shoving her worries to one side, she held her breath and listened to the world. There was only the wind in the trees. The flying contraption made enough noise you could hear it from days away. They were set unless Rep decided to play it safe and rat her out. If he was going to do that, he'd plan to unfold it once they'd hit Dalaran. She concentrated on everything she had heard about the floating city. Dalaran, where mages walked in clouds of magic and the Horde and the Alliance lived side by side. Dalaran, where there was a mailbox every five feet.

Taking out paper and pencil from an inner pocket, she wrote down for her sister's eyes a short tell of her adventures with the warning that if she didn't come home, it was all Reprisal's fault. Once Tiergan read that the damn dwarf would fall on his own blade rather than face his angry wife. She folded the paper and sealed it, then wrote out her sister's address on the face before tucking it up her sleeve.

She looked over at the still sleeping blood elf and took out another piece of paper, this one much folded and weary. She smiled as she carefully limned every sweeping line of each letter of the Thalassian words, careful to make it look a childish hand; a practice of penmanship with many curls and squiggles. She crumpled the finished work into a ball then smoothed it out before folding it and putting it in a pocket of the blood elf's long-coat.

The future provided for, whichever way it bounced, she settled down to watch the sun slowly set behind the trees.

She was just about at the edge of her patience when she finally heard the damn thing, clanking and popping and no doubt leaving a trail of smoke across the sky a blind man could follow. The white horse reared at the noise and headed for the tree line at a gallop. The machine cleared the trees with a wobbling turn but Rep neatly brought it to ground and then drove it closer to her.

She shook the blood elf until he caught and squeezed her hand to make her stop. "Hurry," she said. "The quicker it's back in the air the longer it will stay in the air."

He sat up and then rested for a moment. She leaned forward to look into the darkness of his hood. "Open your eyes."

"They are open."

She took both sides of his hood in her hands and pushed it off his head. Pale, almost colorless, grey eyes met her's. "Your eyes," she whispered in amazement.

"What's wrong with them?"

"They don't glow. They aren't green."

He scrambled to his feet. "You're lying!" He turned about, searching for the gods know what, then patted down his pockets. "Got a mirror?"

"Flying machine first," she said as she stood and gave him a little push towards the contraption. "One thing's for sure. You'll certainly pass for human now as long as you keep your ears covered."

He stopped at the flying machine but she thumped him on the shoulder and motioned to him to get in first. "Sit on the floor boards so I can fix your hood," she said. "Go, Rep," she shouted as soon as her foot was on the wing.

As slender as they both were, it was still a tight fit with both of them in a passenger compartment made for one. She glanced at the blood elf as she fought to tame the cloth cap in her hand in the increasing wind. He sat facing her with both arms around his folded legs, his gaze turned inward. Her eyes dropped to his hand resting on his wounded arm as if its hand was still attached and quickly looked away.

For some reason she found the change in his eyes the most unsettling. For one, they looked just like a human's with the black spot now visible but where there was supposed to be color around it, instead there was hardly any color at all. Those two black spots suddenly focused on her and she gasped, startled by the intensity of their regard. Unsettling, indeed.

The flying machine made a sharp turn and she had to grab his arms for support.

"Are my eyes ugly now?" he said, frowning. "Why do you stare?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's just the change and no, they aren't ugly." She turned away to pull out the tail of her undershirt and rip off its hem. "Eyebrows," she said, keeping a tight hold on the madly flailing strip of cloth. He leaned forward and smoothed down the long appendages so she could tie them down. The strange little cap would have to be enough to restrain his ears, she thought as she gently placed it on his head. Perhaps the looseness of long-coat's hood would be enough to mask them from all but the most discerning eyes.

Once she was done with his disguise, he turned around and made himself comfortable between her knees, throwing an arm over each of her legs. She tensed, her eyes on the handless arm about her thigh, but he ignored her as he looked out over the side of the flying machine. She decided it was perhaps wise to shut her mouth before she caught a bug.


	43. Dangerous Skies

Beyond the trees the snow-covered land sharply rose and fell, punctuated here and there by tall freestanding pinnacles. Everything was jagged edges and black rotted stone, all smothering under the thick white blanket. Thousands of dragon skeletons lay stretched out across the land where the mighty beasts had breathed their last breath.

A huge tree was surrounded by high cliffs as if it had burst full grown from the ground and had thrown the rocks aside in that violent birth. The leaves at its crown shimmered in vibrant yellows and reds while the leaves underneath glowed in emerald tones. A massive skeletal form flew above the tree on wide tattered wings – an emberwyrm – trailing smoke from its blackened bones.

The flying machine lurched to one side and something shrieked, the sound fading as they left it behind. May leaned over to look below them. A flock of huge white birds with black heads was coasting down to join its fellows on the bones of a dragon's torso that stretched beyond her sight. Up ahead a frostwyrm lazily quartered the sky. Between condors and reanimated wyrms they were flying in a very dangerous sky.

When she settled back into her seat she realized she had steadied herself by putting her hands on the blood elf's shoulders. She stared at them wondering if he would want her to remove them. Men got all touchy when they were badly wounded. They sulked like beaten dogs until you wanted to kill them and put them out of your misery.

Well she was going to leave her hands right where she wanted to, that's what. He raised his hand and she prepared herself for the brush off. Instead he took her hand in his and held her palm against his cheek. He had almost died. She had not been able to stand between him and the loss of his hand. She wanted to curl around him and cry. She stifled the impulse without a quiver or a single sigh.

She looked out over the frozen, blighted land through a curtain of tears, not willing to raise her hands to wipe them away. The cold burned the moisture into her skin as the wind blew it across her cheeks. He put her hand back on his shoulder and held it gently in place. No, she wasn't going to move her hands.

A fragmented thick line of black cut across the snow ahead of them, running south and north. As they flew closer she would see it was a road edged by damaged columns. Reprisals swung the flying machine in an arc towards the north to gradually match up and fly over what could only be the Titans Path. Wider than the wingspan of a grown dragon, it lay in pieces along its entire length. Many of the columns were overturned or canted at odd angles, the stones blackened from either age or fire.

The flying machine drifted down lower towards the road until she could clearly see the mortar between the stones. She leaned over the blood elf to pound on the back of Reprisals' seat.

The blood elf pushed her back down to her seat then pulled her face closer to his. "What's the matter," he said, raising his voice over the sounds of the wind and the machine's engine.

"We're too close to the ground!" she yelled.

The plane's wheels hit the road, slamming them against the back of Reprisal's seat. It took to the air again with a sputter and a cough. She stood up just as the plane's nose dipped and she felt as if it were falling out from under her. She grabbed the back of the pilot's seat with both hands and held on for dear life. Her hood flew off her head and belled behind her, pulling the top of the coat hard against her throat. The blood elf threw his arms around her legs, his one hand digging into her flesh.

A forest stretched out before her within the circle of high, snow covered mountains. The graceful white limbed trees, decked in leaves of brown, yellow and pink, rose from hills covered in golden grass. At the far reaches of the land were mounds of purple rock that sprouted huge white trees. A single road wound among bits of broken stone monuments, ending in an enormous purple half-globe. A great tree overshadowed it all, its green leafed crown higher than the mountains.

A huge shadow lay over the land and she looked up to see a massive ball of rock floating high in the air. Brightly colored pennants flew from the tops of golden spires on it. Dalaran! The machine's increasingly loud noises brought her back to the here and now. Rep swore mightily as he pushed and pulled on different knobs and buttons on the dashboard in front of him. At the speed the land was rising up to meet them, she decided to give into the blood elf and sit down.

"This is going to hurt," she said, her lips at his ear.

He pulled her down onto the floorboards. "What's the matter?" he yelled.

"Something's wrong with the machine," she said as he gathered her into his arms. "There's a road but too many damn trees and stonework."

He hugged her tighter to his chest and her skin prickled as a healing spell danced across her skin. She couldn't remember him ever being so free with his abilities. It was as if the Light exuded from his being as easily as breathing.

There was a loud thump and the scream of metal hitting stone; the dry clatter of the landing apparatus breaking away. They were thrown up in the air and then against the pilot seat. The rim of the passenger seat painfully dug into her ribs. The flying machine tilted from side to side as it was hit on one flank and then the other. There was a wet sputtering sound and the machine came to such a sudden stop the tail went up in the air.

She and the blood elf stood as one to see about Reprisals, who was slumped against the machine's controls. The blood elf's hand and arms glowed with a faint white light as they both reached to pull the unconscious dwarf back into his chair. Water flowed in around their feet.

"He's fine," the blood elf said. "A bump to the head but he'll be none the worse for wear."

"That's nothing to a dwarf," she said, smiling with relief.

The blood elf jumped into the water, then held his hand out to her. "Quickly, before it sinks."

She reached down and released the door's lever then pushed the dwarf out of his seat like he was a sack of grain. The moment he hit the water, he began flailing wildly. The blood elf caught one of his arms and tried to calm him down. She slipped into the water and took Reprisals' other arm. Finally the dwarf realized they were trying to help him and stopped struggling.

It was an easy swim through the cool, clear water to the shore. They were all drenched but she didn't feel cold, despite the snow on the mountains above them. Now that her ears weren't full of rushing wind she could hear the air vibrate with a soft sound that came from all directions. The purple half globe lay ahead among the ruins of a large courtyard.

Reprisals thanked the blood elf for saving his life, and then pointed at the purple globe. "Our ticket up to Dalaran," he said. "Gatekeeper Melindra is a good friend of mine."

She pulled at the elf's sleeve, motioning that he needed to pull his coat's hood forward again. All things considered, maybe it looked suspicious if he was the only one so disguised and decided to cover her head as well. She hung back, letting Rep take the lead and did not look the blood elf's way. She did not trust her face to hide her gut feeling they were about to be betrayed.


	44. Dalaran

Reprisals led them right up to the purple half-globe and went through it without stopping. May and the blood elf traded surprised looks then followed him inside. Whatever the strange thing was, she didn't feel anything on her bare skin when she touched it, as if she had passed through a figment of her imagination.

They walked across worn cobblestones edged in moss to a female human wearing the tabard of a Kirin Tor mage. She took in their bedraggled appearance without showing any curiosity or interest. Apparently all manner of folk fell out of the sky in these parts, May thought with mild irritation. The woman listened to Reprisal's story with half lidded eyes that only flicked once at his companions.

The mage's nonchalance was too perfect but May decided she didn't know enough about their routines to be sure. Still, her feeling that something was wrong had bitten deep and wouldn't let go. Maybe it was just the way the blood elf stood there as bold as brass listening to them talk as if he were a member of the Alliance too.

When the mage said she was ready to port them up to the city, May stepped forward and elbowed the blood elf to one side. "Might I go first, please? I have never been to Dalaran before," she gushed. "This is so exciting!"

The woman hesitated for a scarce tick before she nodded in agreement and began casting the spell. May's heart sank and she turned to smile at the blood elf to hide her face from the others. They had no other way to go but into a trap, she was sure of that now.

In one breath she was on the ground and in the next she was in a building with many doorways open to the city. Disoriented for moment, she wobbled on shaky legs until another woman took her by the arm to steady her. May mumbled her thanks, her eyes on a mounted box she could see across the street. It didn't look like the ones in Stormwind but on top of it was one of their fancy mage-images of a bird with something in its mouth. It had to be a mailbox.

A warmer hand on her arm replaced the first one – that was the blood elf – and then she heard Reprisals say something and she darted into the street. With the neighing of a startled horse ringing in her ears, she skillfully avoided being trampled despite being aware of no more than its shadow. Then she was a sheepdog weaving among the flock, her eyes and her intent on the mailbox. Within feet of it she suddenly stopped, causing Reprisals run into her and push her into it. As she leaned against it for support, she slipped the letter to Tiergan through the bird image and it was taken from her hand.

"What's down that way," she said, pointing at the ramp beyond that sloped down below street level. Two people were holding a lively conversation with much hand waving near the wall at the bottom. "That looks interesting." Hopefully Rep would think that had been where she had meant to go and not to mail a letter.

"None o' that, lass," Rep said as he jerked her around. His grip on her arm was punishing hard but she refused to flinch under it. "We go this way."

He had left the blood elf alone to chase her down and Ceawlin had followed them like an idiot while they solved the family crisis. She glared at the blood elf and then felt bad. There can't be too many ways off a floating ball of rock, she realized. At least Tiergan would know what really happened once she got the letter.

"This way," Rep said as he released her arm and started off down the road. He was on to her; she could tell from the way he quickly adjusted his step to each change in her gait. She didn't know any other way off the city except through the mages. Were all of them on his side? Maybe she should work on a believable reason why she had to kill him.

They walked past a woman grooming the hairiest and ugliest elekk she had ever seen while it raised its long trunk to test the air. Behind her was tethered a beautiful snow white gryphon and a huge brown bear with a saddle. A little gnome lady waved at her from the doorway of a pet shop.

Dalaran was more beautiful than she had imagined. The buildings were made of blocks of stones embellished with understated fine carvings. Sheets of pale colored glass in simple designs were set within the window openings. Small parks, planted with flowers and even trees, were pretty green jewels among the odd corners. It was a place of dignity without being severe; a place of peacefulness and rest without being dull.

Two blood elf mages in splendid red gear scowled at them from each side of a large archway draped with Horde flags. Ceawlin looked over the heads of the crowd at the buildings beyond but continued to follow Rep without hesitation. She almost wished he would run to the mages; he couldn't think he would fare better in the hands of the Alliance. Maybe he hadn't picked up on her clues, she wondered. His expression had not changed since they had met the first Kirin Tor mage.

Suddenly the most wonderful smells in the world had her stomach growling. A slight breeze had sprung up, bearing with it a delicious perfume of wine, cheese and, the heavens help her, cake. And pie! She was so hungry she was almost sick to her stomach. She nudged Rep's arm as a hint she wanted to stop and either steal some food or ask for handouts but he ignored her.

The blood elf crowded that side of her, pushing her away from the shop. She planted an elbow in his ribs, then remembering the letter she'd hidden in his clothing, deftly checked its hiding place. In the same moment she realized it was gone, he grabbed her hand and spun her around into a tight embrace. His lips were soft and light on hers, then he whispered into her ear, "May I always be the home you seek."

He had found it! She stared up into his smiling face with those eyes the color of deep, clear water and then Rep was pushing them apart. "None of that, damn the both of you," he hissed. He jerked her out of Ceawlin's grasp and shoved her ahead of him.

Expecting a fight, the crowd had moved away from them, revealing a raised well. Rep pulled her towards the short flight of stairs up one side of it. "I need to get my bearings," he said. "Come up with me so you don't get lost."

The tight grip he had on her hand meant he wasn't going to accept a refusal. At the top of the steps she looked down into the well, curious if it went all the way through the rock. She was pushed hard from behind and she twisted about to grab Rep, angry at her own stupidity. Instead of grabbing her brother-in-law, the blood elf was shoved against her, no doubt with Rep's help. She seized the front of his coat and pulled him down with her as she lost her footing. There was a sound of water splashing and then she and Ceawlin landed heavily on a pile of large sacks. She looked up through a haze of straw dust at an unbroken stone ceiling. The well was a magic portal to the city's underground, and by the smell, to the sewers as well.

"At last," a male voice laced with laughter purred.

She looked up from the circle of legs around them to the face of Myrokos Silentform, the rogue guildmaster's right hand man. He had pulled off his hood and the blood elf's hair shone as bright as gold in a shaft of light. She swallowed, unable to stop the compulsive response. He made a quick gesture and she was pulled to her feet with her arms held behind her back.

Myrokos stepped forward and slapped her across the face so hard her ears rang. "Welcome to Dalaran, bitch."


	45. Freedom

Light danced on the rough stone walls around them and the air shivered as Ceawlin called upon one of his Seals. Myrokos grabbed her by the hair and jerked her around so that he held her face against his chest. A thickness around his arm betrayed the location of where his fan of knives were sheathed; he would only need to flick his wrist once to cut the paladin down in his cloth gear.

"Think again, paladin," Myrokos said softly. "I will admit her gambit did work much better than ours as it turned out. But you must understand how vexing it is when the help hare about on their own without letting anyone else in on their little secret."

Myrokos pressed his lips against her forehead, taking and holding the skin around her eyebrow between his teeth in a bite just shy of drawing blood. It was for him a gentle warning to be still and not warn Ceawlin. He straightened but did not release her. His fingers gently played with her hair.

"As you can see, we are all friends here." His body jerked as he motioned to someone and two different people each took an arm and pulled her behind Myrokos. "She stays here while I turn you over to the Kirin Tor mages. I assure you she will come to no harm." He turned and grabbed her by the jaw, his fingers digging into her face. "You do understand why, don't you, darling."

She did not flinch or twist out of his grasp and met his angry stare with one just as hateful. He turned away and made a shallow bow to the paladin. "Shall we go?"

Ceawlin ignored him and went to her side. A golden haze surrounded him. The two rogues stepped away, giving him plenty of room. He traced the edge of her jaw and immediately the pain was gone. She smiled up at him but he didn't return it. She shook her head. "Politics. Go."

The hardest part was watching him leave, she decided, as she sought to control her breathing. The moment the group was out of her sight, one of the two rogues tapped her shoulder. He motioned that she was welcome to join them while the other pulled small bundles out of a pack. She took a seat on a crate and crossed her legs but shook her head at the slice of hard cheese he offered on his knife.

"Clever of you to set up the King's spies for a fall so Ravenholdt came out smelling sweet," one of them – Yogiri by the sound of the voice – said.

That meant the other was his twin brother, Musouka, who waved towards the doorway. "Go. Do not shame us," he said. "The middle tube, turn right. Outside you're at the mage tower stairs."

"Next time, put your ear to more keyholes and fewer assholes," Yoguiri said, but by then she was already on her way.

She managed a judiciously quick speed across the open area, dodging the fair amount of vermin running about. All around her the metal and stone of the air borne city muttered and groaned. A rat ran through a puddle of oily water nearby, startling her, but she managed to hide her nervousness. She stopped at the tunnel's mouth to check for guards before walking on as if she were a citizen. There were a few people standing about talking and even a small crowd at the tavern she passed, but no one looked her way.

At the top of the ramp she stepped into the shadows near the doorway and crept into the daylight. Just a few steps away was a wide, grand stairway that led up to the tallest tower in the city. There was no other indication it was the mages' tower, decorated as it was in the same understated manner as the rest of the buildings. Trusting that Musouka had told her true she darted across the grass to the side of the tower, then ran up the stairs, her soft leather boots not making even a whisper on the stone. At the large open doorway she stopped just long enough to note who was in the room before slipping into the shadows of a nearby tall bookcase. Only two people were in the sparsely decorated room, a man and a woman, the echoes of their voices whispering from its walls and high ceiling.

"… apologize for my esteemed counterpart but he was suddenly called away," the female said, her resolute voice a reflection of someone long used to the burden of command. She wore a Kirin Tor tabard over understated clothing that did nothing to hint at her rank. "I can't congratulate you on being the first, paladin. With the Light's grace, you won't be the last. However, you do have the honor of being the first I have had the pleasure to lay eyes upon."

Ceawlin bowed to her, which she received with a smile. "A wiser being than I gave its life to reignite the Sunwell, in hopes the holy power would cure the blood elves' malaise – the madness your leader set upon your race. I see before me proof M'uru had the right of it, but I also see," she said as she looked towards an empty far corner of the rug under her feet. "It is apparently not the justice the sin'dorei seek."

The tall gray-haired woman turned to Ceawlin with a slight, grim smile. "Can you now call yourself sin'dorei, paladin? Are you truly, of the blood, now? What are you, exactly? I do know that if my esteemed colleague had stayed, your ears would be ringing with his cries of 'abomination'.

"You've trashed your heritage, paladin. The Alliance will never trust you for what you once were – if ever they would trust you, a former member of the horde. Until you die every hand on this world will be raised against you. How does that make you feel, blood knight?"

Ceawlin studied the floor for several moments. He finally raised his eyes to hers and held them for several moments. "Free," he said softly.

"Free," the female mage snorted. "Piss poor place to be, paladin. You belong to no place or faction. You will never be trusted."

He nodded. "Yes. That is true. For now."

The sigh passed Argel's lips before she could stop it and the other woman made a slight movement, almost turning about to face the bookshelf. "There are others I think you should meet," she said and with a wave of her hands, both she and Ceawlin were gone.

Argel leaned head first into the corner made by the wall and the back of the bookshelf. She had meant to keep the paladin for herself and that selfish act had only served to place him where those more powerful than her meant for him to go. He was in good hands, if there was such a thing in the world these days. The Kirin Tor went to great pains to keep their neutrality, especially when it suited them. As for her, the guild would be suspicious of her motives but her past deeds and a word from Reprisals would go a long way towards keeping her alive.

He was gone. She shouldn't cry, she told herself, he was safe now.


	46. The Home You Seek

The clouds that had hung as a grey threat over the mountains all day finally made good on that promise of rain just as the sun dropped below the horizon. Most people would grumble, but not her. She loved to hear the water falling through the leaves, knowing the river would be singing lustfully come the morning.

They had tried to tell her not to settle in this far corner of the world, but it had everything that made her happy: snow capped mountains, tall trees and rivers that ran singing to the sea. Four years ago the inn had been nothing more than a bare bones military outpost but in that short time she had turned it into a comfortable place to visit.

The blur of a light colored hide showed through the trees: a grey horse and rider. Another guest had found his way to Amberpine. She chuckled to herself as she shut the window, smugly proud she had had the wit to have extra wood put by. There would be plenty of hot water for baths for the guests trapped at the inn by the rain. Maybe some would even be in the mood to stay for a while longer. It would be nice to catch up on gossip from Stormwind or Ironforge.

"Ho, Belle," Mason called from below. "Gent here for a room."

"Send him up," she answered in response to the inflection in her watchman's voice that meant: unarmed dandy, money.

"I'll be seein' to his horse if you need me," Mason said before clapping the caller on the shoulder that, from the sound, was hard enough to stagger the other man. "Welcome to Amberpine."

She watched from the top of the stairs as the gentleman in question came up them. A broad brimmed hat – trimmed with a mass of fluffy feathers no less – obscured his face. His clothes were expensive and well cut but his sword was only for show judging by its bright, ornate hilt. A dandy, indeed, but what business would he have out in Grizzly Hills? She couldn't see any of the woodsmen willing to coddle him if he wanted to go afield for game. Folks out here hunted for food, not sport.

"I just finished setting this room up," she said as she unlocked the door and led the way into the room.

In the next moment she was flying through the air to land with a hard bounce on the bed with the man on top of her. He imprisoned both her hands above her head with one of his while his other hand pushed up her dress and ripped off her braies.

She looked up into eyes the color of deep, pure water. "You certainly took your sweet time," she said with a smile.

He laughed outright, a deep, rolling sound she could feel vibrate through his chest. Ceawlin leaned down and kissed her gently as his arms tightened around her.

A sudden thought intruded. "Stop, stop," she gasped. "Did you shut the door? Please tell me you shut the door!"

"Why would I want to do that," he laughed.

"Please," she whispered. "Please go look – I'll let you throw me in the bed again. I promise!"

The door had indeed not been completely shut, which he corrected, closing it without a click. She sat up, gloriously happy just to watch him move about the room. He turned and stopped at the end of the bed to look down at her. She preened for him, aware of the effect of her hair hanging in loose curls around her bare shoulders and the sight of her parted knees, waiting for him.

He took something out his pocket and knelt beside the bed. He started to speak but interrupted himself. "I heard him call you 'Belle'."

"Maybelle is what I go by now," she said with a smile. "So if you slip up and call me May, no one will notice." She pointed at the small box in his hand. "What is that," she said with a frown.

"I want you to marry me. Will you, May?"

She looked into his clear grey eyes and realized she would do anything to keep him, even to go so far as putting that chain on him. "I don't know," she said, narrowing her eyes and assuming a mock-severe glare. "You have to prove you're worthy, first."

He stood and with a smile that made her wriggle with delight, proceeded to do exactly that.

* * *

(Fragment of a poem found in a book donated by Lord Farinmail's family to the Stormwind Library)

.

Lay your head here on my breast

Lay your ear where my heart beats

Would that it say what you ache to hear

May my heart beat ever true

.

With loving hands I smooth your brow

The touch of your skin my delight

Would that I could brush your cares away

May my hands be ever gentle

.

I put my arms around you

The warmth of your love encircles me

As our bodies intertwine

May I always be the home you seek

* * *

~the end~


End file.
